Mad World
by Riddelly
Summary: Kenny McCormick's days of playing the hero are over, or at least supposed to be. But an unexpected encounter with the abusive relationship between Craig and Tweek binds him to them both and leaves him desperate to prove himself one more time. KM/TT/CT
1. ONE

**A/N** _Hello~ This would be the second full-length South Park fic I've written that you just opened up, and somehow it manages to have abusive Creek once again. I guess it's just a theme of mine? XD In any case, here you go. The first few chapters are mostly, well, smut scenes (you could say that this fic opens with a bang... quite literally), but later on the stuff gets a lot more deep, I can promise you that. As stated in the summary, this story will eventually involve Creek, Crenny, and Twenny, to various degrees. I already have a completed copy of it saved, and I can confirm that I'll be uploading once a week, on Saturdays, most likely. There are fifteen chapters in total, just so that you know what's coming. And I suppose that would be all. Well, then, please review/alert (I won't ask you to favorite, though I would love that, of course :D), and enjoy le story~! _

**Rated M** _for explicit sexual scenes, coarse language, violence, and drug references_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

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**ONE**

Even when I walk in and see Tweek shivering on the bed, Craig smirking and standing guard a few feet away, I haven't quite processed that I'm in deep shit.

Wait, let's rewind a bit.

I hadn't intended for this night to be anything particularly special. Well, it was a Friday, which meant that even the goody-goody girls at school who couldn't pull weekday all-nighters would be available. That was good. Of course, they always needed persuasion in the form of a few beers, which I couldn't necessarily afford… but only a few. They're so unadjusted, it's pathetic. Still, virginities are few and far between now, and I like collecting them. Being screwed is something you can't take back. I keep a tally of the ones I've done. Think it's up to twenty-seven in our grade alone. The day I've ruined innocence as many times as I've died will be a celebrated one in South Park, possibly used to throw the ratio even more off-balance.

But I digress.

Friday night is a good night, beaten only by Saturday (though carry-over bashes that go through both utterly dominate). Meaning that I wasn't horribly eager to have mine taken away from me. But when you get a text from Craig Tucker saying _Come to Tweek's, I've got a treat for you, _you can't exactly be expected to ignore it. I don't know Craig well, but he knows what I'm into, and unlike with someone such as, say, Butters Stotch, if Craig has a treat he doesn't mean Hawaiian Fruit popsicles. The location he was indicating had to be promising, too. Tweek was someone I'd never gone for before. Not Craig, either, in fact. Stan and Kyle, sure, a couple of times. A casual thing. Every girl there was to be had in the grade, of course. That damned fat-ass Cartman once, I'll admit, but I blame the alcohol. Butters—well, you can't watch the guy lick and slurp a popsicle forever without going in for it. I do guys. Yeah. Never anything emotional with them—never anything emotional with anyone, of course, but what I'm trying to say is that I'm not a fucking fag. Dudes can do things girls can't. And vice versa. I'm well-learned in that area, and spreading things out is my forte. I know the most sensitive part of Wendy's clit as well as I know Stan's precise climatic groan, and they're still dating. It doesn't mean anything, not really.

So I got this text, and I wasn't just going to leave it. Come on, who could? Resulting in my being here now, having just walked through Tweek's open door—his house is empty—and up the stairs to this room, his bedroom. To see his trembling form curled up against the bedframe, watching me with dark-shadowed, frantic eyes, his shirt gone but loose pants still in place.

Delicious.

I can tell that my cerulean-blue eyes are glinting under the orange hood that I keep pulled over my head, because Tweek's expression only turns more horrified. A sure guarantee that I look my best—best, for me, is pretty much horny. Nothing much is happening down there, not yet, but I can tell it's only a matter of time. I nip at the edge of my lip, kneading the flesh between my hard, sharp white teeth before releasing it and running the tip of my tongue along the small wound. I'm taunting him, and Craig, too. Craig, who doesn't look too bad himself, considering. His eyes, a darker blue than my own, are practically glowing, and I can tell that he's even more in his element right now than I am. I wonder briefly if he's considering going for a threesome. Probably not. He seems more like the type to want somebody all to himself at once. But he also seems remarkably unlikely to just let me have an even go at Tweek. No, he probably intends to get his way with both of us before the night is over, which doesn't give me much cause to complain, though I do have to marvel at the guy's stamina in that case. We're at the Tweaks' house, so energy for me shouldn't be an issue. Drugs are good, but really, caffeine has something special to it. And coffee tastes _really fucking good. _Seriously, I haven't encountered many things that great in my life. Well, except for sex. And weed. But… whatever.

Anyways, I wouldn't have expected Craig to be up for something like this. Still, I can see him sizing me up, and it starts a light prickling down in the Netherlands. From what I've heard, he's not too terrible, himself. And Tweek… well, I've always had a thing for blondes. Though the muscular body of his captor is easily more appealing than his sticklike one. Seems that I'll be getting a little of everything this time around. Sweet. Well, everything save clit, but that's not too painful. I'd had some Red last night, so I'm as close to satisfied as I can be in that area.

Overall, things are looking good.

I let out a low murmur of appreciation towards this fact, and Craig's face twitches in frustration. "Take that damn thing off!" he hisses, lunging forward. His fingers grip the zipper of my parka and yank it down, so that the front opens and the hood falls down onto my shoulders, fully revealing my face.

"Ah—godfuckingdammit!" I hiss in frustration, lifting a hand to halfheartedly cover my nose and mouth. I'm not used to being so… exposed. Well, until it's time for such a thing, that is. Which, I remind myself, it probably will be quite soon. "What was that for?" I demand, taking a couple of steps backwards until I can feel the door handle digging into the back of my ribs.

"So you can _speak _and we can _understand _you?" Craig spits. His deep blue eyes are bright with an odd sort of fevered anger, something that I'm not used to seeing on him. He's always dark and cool, a tall shadow that lingers around the edges of the parking lot after school, smoke whispering out from his lips, slanting dangerous glares at anyone who approaches him—save Tweek, whom he always has one arm draped loosely, almost carelessly around the skinny shoulders of. But this—it's a new side of him, fiery and furious. I can't help but wonder if this is the Craig that Tweek is used to.

I tilt my chin up slightly, letting my hands drop to my sides. A slight whimper comes from the direction of the bed, where the blonde sits in a huddled heap, his shadowed eyes large and bloodshot. They stare frantically at me, and I force myself to look away from the pathetic sight. "Well?" I question. "What's going on here?"

My voice, relatively calm, appears to be too much for Tweek, who tumbles down from the bed and skitters across the floor until he's beside me. He reaches out and wraps one emaciated hand around my dangling wrist, looking up at me like a starving slave begging his master for another serving of gruel. "D-don't leave me alone with him!" he gasps raggedly, tears pooling in his eyes. "Please save me… t-take me h-home with you!"

It's alarming, and a bit revolting, too. I can't fight the grimace of disgust that spreads across my face, even as pity sickens my stomach. Tweek's _terrified _of Craig, terrified beyond his usual state of hyperactive anxiety. I never noticed this at school, when I bothered to attend… but, then again, these two were one of the last duos that I would care to pay attention to. "Dude," I mumble uncertainly. "I won't…" The words come out of my mouth automatically, a promise that I can't make. There's no way that I can take Tweek home with me. I'm not going to expose him to my parents and their drunken fights and rages; it's bad enough that poor Karen has to deal with them… besides, I don't see why this fucker would be worth my time, in the first place. If he hooked up with a rapist, that's his problem, not mine.

"The _fuck _are you doing?" One of Craig's black Vans shoots out, the dirty-toed shoe colliding with Tweek's shin bone and eliciting a squeaky yelp. I flinch at the noise. It sounds animal, like a wounded puppy. The taller boy's only reaction is a darkly smooth hunter's grin that, I won't deny, chills me to the bone marrow. He actually doesn't give a shit what happens to the person who's meant to be his boyfriend. And I certainly know rough sex—to a rather high degree, if I do so flatter myself—but this remains rather… disturbing.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask simply.

"W-with who?" Tweek whispers. His grip on my hand is iron-tight, a surprising amount of strength for someone in his position.

"…Both of you." It's true; I can't exactly attribute the freakishness of the situation here to a single one of them. It seems that both have been contributing to some degree. "No one's told me what the fuck's going on." Which is also honest enough. Craig's text couldn't really have been _less _specific. I actually wasn't expecting Tweek at all. Bebe or Butters, maybe, but not Tweek.

"H-he _raped _me!" Tweek gasps eagerly, seemingly all too willing to confess their history now that I'm welcoming it. "He abused me, and h-he used me as a toy… he _hurts _me! I loved him after it all, but now… now I'm giving up!" The glare that he shoves at Craig is absolutely sad, whimpering and shaky, especially when a bored eye roll is returned.

"Shut the fuck up," Craig grumbles, flicking his middle finger casually up in the sniveling blonde's direction.

"Oh… okay." I'm not quite sure where I stand here, yet, and compromise with my next words. "You raped him?" I direct at Craig, seeking clarification.

"Well," he drawls, "I wouldn't call it rape, _per se._" The sentence ends in a sarcastic flair.

"What was it?" I prompt.

"_It was rape!_" Tweek squeals indignantly. His voice scratches in his throat, and it strikes me that it's probably a bit worn from… screaming. Just how often has Craig been using him? I can't help but wonder, though the answer probably isn't one that I want to hear.

"Well." The dark-haired boy shrugs boldly. "I guess." He says the words so lightly, like he doesn't care at all, and I wonder for a moment what it must be like in his mind, how he can stand to execute such cruel actions, seemingly without so much as flinching.

"Okay…" My mind is whirring, somehow trying to find a way to get Tweek out. I don't know why, but suddenly, I don't want him to get hurt anymore. _He's had enough. _Maybe it's that something in those frantic green eyes, but the idea of abandoning him to Craig's twisted desires is suddenly awful.

"What?" Craig interjects angrily.

"…Why are you keeping him here, then? Why are you here at all?"

His eyes gleam dangerously, and I know that he's regretting asking me to come. I'm obviously not shaping up to be as much fun as he was anticipating, what with my apparent defense of Tweek and all. "Because," he snarls, and for a moment, the shine of his navy irises combined with the glint of his teeth in the low lighting gives an impression of genuine insanity. "I was _bored. _I want to play with my toy." His head tilts slightly. "Why shouldn't I?"

"…Let him go?" I ask impulsively, already knowing what his response will be before the words are out of my mouth. Craig has no reason to release Tweek, none at all.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to." It's a ridiculous reason, and I know it as well as he. Craig couldn't be less concerned with my desires, though, apparently, he has to opposition to entertaining me with his sex slave. And possibly himself, as well, though I'm not entirely certain whether or not he meant for things to be going three ways.

"C'mon, Ken," he snorts in disbelief. "I know you're on my side here."

_I wasn't aware that there were 'sides.' _I can already tell that this is turning into more than I anticipated, and wish that I could take back coming at all. Of course, then Tweek would be alone… _but all the better, _I think to myself venomously. What I don't know won't hurt me. This stupid… guilt, caring, whatever isn't my fault. I _wish _that I had the fucking courage to just leave him.

"So," Craig continues, "go on. You _know _his body is cute. You know you're just dying to play with it…"

I'll confess that I'm becoming just a bit tempted. Maybe my random burst of heroic shit is, well, just that—shit. Maybe it doesn't have any significance and can be held at bay if I just try to ignore it. And yet…

"Yes, but… no," I insist. "I can't… not this time…" _It wouldn't be right. _Hell, why am I thinking these things? They don't make any sense, don't make any fucking sense…

"Why not?" Craig snaps.

I don't have an answer, in all honesty. Because of something shitty like morality? Ha, no. Morality is a concept invented by the weak. But even those words ring false in my mind, because I'm the fucking _defender _of morals, I'm Mysterion—I defend everyone, defend people from the unjust—is that what I'm seeking now, even though I gave up the cheap-ass superhero outfit years ago? Do I just want to be a rescuer again, a redeemer, some sort of—of _savior? _It's stupid. Mysterion is dead. He was a game. A game that had a massive effect on the town, yes, a game that saved probably countless lives and a shitload of money, but a game nonetheless. Things like that don't carry over to the teenage years, to adulthood. At least, they don't in South Park, Colorado. We keep drugs and sex. What more do you need, really? Nothing actually decent is necessary if you can cover up the gaps in your life with the haze of a good smoke and a promise of a wild night.

"I'll pay you," he bursts out suddenly, his eyes glimmering insanely. "I'll pay you—I have money, I have people that can get you more money—and I have other ways of paying, too, you know that…"

He's lying. He's _got _to be lying. Why the hell else would he offer me _cash _just to fuck his boyfriend? Is he desperate for a show or something? Or… is it that he wants _me? _Is he asking that I stay so that I can… so that _he _and I can… the prospect isn't entirely displeasing. My attention is now shifting more to him, less to Tweek. He seems to be offering me a good fuck and any number of crisp bills, so who am I to deny him?

"D-don't do it please?" Tweek whimpers, his bony frame shaking like a good wind could blow it straight out of Colorado. But he doesn't have anything to offer me… besides, I like Craig a good deal more than I do Tweek. If I have to upset one of them, it might as well be the one incapable of rewarding me, the one whose feelings I care about less. Not that I care about either of their feelings. At all. Dammit.

His eyes ripple with tears, and his face is stained with flushed patches and sticky lines where the saltwater has dried, an absolute mess. I'm not sure I can identify just why Craig likes him so much, though I suppose he _does _have a cute body. He's probably a good screamer, too… yeah, I can see this kid acting nice and weak in bed. I always love that, when they behave so… pathetically. It makes me feel powerful. In control. Which is, after all, a role that I'm presented with rarely enough otherwise.

"Yeah. Fine," I mutter, looking away from the blonde, who sobs desperately.

"Stop acting so depressed," Craig scoffs, crossing his arms casually. "You know you want to. You know you're going to _love _it."

I am. I can already tell that I am absolutely going to love it. So why is there still that nag in the back of my mind, telling me that I'm acting like an absolute douche, that I should grab Tweek and fucking run for it? Well, it doesn't matter, anyhow, because I'm not too keen on listening to that voice. I've made my decision, and Craig seems rather delighted about it, judging by his stance and the glitter of his eyes. Two happy to one not. It's as fair as we'll get. Majority rules.

"P-please," Tweek chokes through his low wails, his lips stuttering with the effort of speaking the single word.

"Get off me." I give my arm a light shake, but apparently it's too much for him—he collapses backwards onto the ground, yelping as his tailbone collides with the hard wooden floorboards. Slowly, he drags himself back to the bed, and slumps over the side of it, hacking out more tears.

Craig laughs, the sharp, deep bark of a hungry predator, and lets his arms relax. They dangle widely at his sides, and I can't help but view it as a fighting stance. Despite the casual air that he's emanating, he's ready to physically restrain me from helping Tweek if I have a sudden… change of heart. I won't, though. I can't. I'll just have to make it through the night—that has no reason to be a challenge, none at all. After all, fucking is what I'm best at.

"So." I tuck my hands into my pockets, face him fully. "What exactly are you giving me?"

"Well, you have a choice," he drawls brightly, the words nasal and twisted with evil enjoyment. "Me, Tweek, or both. You know what I'm talking about, here."

It'll be a long night no matter what. I hesitate for a moment, evaluating my own energies. Two isn't that much of a stretch in one round, not for me. I'll do Tweek first, go light on him, as a sort of warm up. Then I can transfer to Craig—he, I know, will be willing to go at it with quite some power. Something to look forward to. My tongue swipes around the inside of my mouth appreciatively as I laugh out a response. "Both, of course."

"Alright," he purrs. We stare at each other for a moment, noting that we just agreed to have sex without so much as batting an eyelid—and we hardly know each other, too—before he yells, "Tweek!" The tone in which he speaks the name is the type that one would use when calling a dog. The blonde flinches and ducks his head, weeping softly, as Craig plows on: "The more the better… shut _up,_" he grumbles in exasperation.

"Yeah," I agree thoughtlessly, "it's annoying." Each word grates on my throat, but I imagine it doesn't, pretend that I couldn't care less—_tell myself _that I couldn't care less.

"K-Kenny…" Tweek whispers, shaking. I look somewhere over his head, vaguely in the direction of the wall. There's a darkish splotch there where it looks like a spider might have met its untimely end, most likely confronted with a shoe or similar weapon.

"I—why are you doing this?" he questions weakly.

"It's fun," I snort, staring so hard that the image of spider guts will probably be eternally imprinted in my mind.

"B-but… _how? _Why is it fun to—to watch someone's innocence go away…?"

"Think that happened a while back," I offer all-too-easily.

"Yeah," Craig agrees with a short laugh.

"You—you'd make it worse than it already is," Tweek insists frantically.

"How?" The single word is as much a challenge to myself as it is to him—I'm fighting an internal battle much more than an external one at the moment, struggling to just force myself not to care, _not to care…_

"B-because…" He looks quickly back and forth between us. "Because… you can…"

"C'mon, bitch, speak," Craig spits.

"YOU CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT!" Tweek screams. It's so loud, so shocking and out of place, that I actually stumble backwards a step or two, flinching. His face is flushed bright red, and his shoulders convulse with spasmodic sobs. "Whatever you want—I'll still be resistant, like I always am, you're… I'll fucking withstand…"

"Sure you will," I snort. It's hard to believe that the small, weak boy will be able to stand much anything at all.

"I—I will… try me…"

"Oh, so now you _want _to?" Craig elbows me heavily in the ribcage, an action that, for some reason, sends excited sparks through my stomach. I suppose it's just anticipation. It's a weird feeling, though, one that I haven't gotten since… wow… for a really time. What must it have been—third, fourth grade? Like… the feeling I'd get when I actually had a _crush _on someone—but that's not it. Not at all. The very idea, in fact, is laughable. I've never crushed on a guy in my life. The only reason I screw them at all is for variety. I'm so preoccupied with these ridiculous self-doubts that I hardly catch his next muttered phrase: "Told you he was a slut."

"And so you were right," I find myself agreeing.

He snickers and backs away. For some reason, his warmth departing from my side is a twisted sort of disappointment, but I pretend not to notice, because he's already talking again. "Kenny, did you bring anything? Toys… tape… rope, perhaps?"

"Who do you think I am?" Smirking, I strip off my parka, tossing the heavy garment in Craig's direction.

He snatches it out of the air, looking a bit surprised at its weight—of course, concealed objects can be rather heavy. "Ah, Ken," he breathes, hands sliding into a couple of the many hidden pockets, "I love you, man." He proceeds to remove a roll of duct tape and a bit of rope and lug them over to the bed, scooping Tweek up under the arms and tossing him onto it, ignoring his squeak. I watch coldly and silently as he proceeds to wind a length of the silvery tape around the trembling wrists and tie them expertly to the bed posts.

"There," he murmurs, stepping back and taking a look at his handiwork. "Now he should be _much _more fun to… play with…"

Tweek squirms desperately, a high-pitched keen leaking out of his throat, and I cross my arms, exhaling in a swift puff of air. I don't give a shit how uncomfortable he is; it's not my fucking problem. Not my _fucking _problem. I occupy myself with swiping my fingers over the light switch, half-turning it down so that the glow filling the room turns thick amber and rusty, glutinous, so that it drips over Craig and Tweek's shadowed forms.

"C'mon," I taunt, "Give him a kiss… don't you want to, Tweek?"

"Ugh—_no!_"

"Yeah, you do… come here…" There's a muffled squeak as Craig leans in over Tweek, and I brace myself casually against the wall, craning my neck slightly to get a good angle. Craig's fingers are wound in the smaller boy's shaggy blonde hair, their mouths pressed together, and I can practically feel the sexual tension radiating from the invisible distance between Tweek's squirming body and Craig's steady one. After a moment, the latter pulls back, grinning in my direction.

"So," he continues as if the interlude hadn't occurred, "how do you want to do this? I go first, you second… or what? Your call, dude."

I consider for a moment, nibbling at the edge of my lip. "…You two do your thing first. Then I can take my time… with both…"

A heavy sigh. "Fine. Although, let me warn—I am always on top. I am _never…_" His teeth shine in the low light as he grins wickedly. "…The bitch."

"Whatever you want." I shrug. It's not a huge thing for me; I'm used to being both top and bottom, though the first perhaps a bit more. Still, I'm not even sure I _want _dominance over Craig, as… satisfying as that might be. I almost… want him to… use me. Want to hear his voice, that low, nasally voice in my ear, hot breath creeping down my neck, hissing _scream for me… _and I would, I would scream, loudly enough to crack all the glass in the house…

Tweek's breath is coming even faster now as he jerks away helplessly, unable to resist as Craig moves in yet closer. I creep around the edge of the room until I'm farther away from the door, positioned right next to the bed.

"Ready, Tweek?"

"N-no," he whimpers, shifting in the shadows. Everything seems oddly quiet, almost peaceful, like the calm before the storm. I could practically fall asleep here, in this room, though I'm nowhere near doing such a thing. No, I have far too much to look forward to—beginning with this show being put on for me, right here, right now.

Craig growls, a completely animal noise, and I can hear him murmuring to Tweek, his voice rough and cruel, just a notch too low for my ears to pick up the individual words. Scattered squeaks and muffled wails come from the blonde boy as, slowly, his remaining clothes are stripped off. His thin shape, swathed in shadow, is trembling absurdly, almost like he's having some sort of bizarre seizure. The little whimpers emanating from his mouth are stifled as Craig slinks in closer, purring low in his throat, winding his arms around Tweek's thin chest, tangling his fingers in his hair. He pauses for a moment, holding his breath, then goes in for the kill.

It's harsh, it's sudden, and I can't deny that it's damn _hot. _Craig's done with foreplay, abruptly cut it off—now he's smothering Tweek, stifling the smaller boy's nose and mouth with his own, murmuring and fiercely crushing him tighter, and the process begins.

It's a blurred mesh of panting, moaning, and weak screaming, of the bed rocking violently as the two of them move faster and faster. I'm high on anticipation, like an overeager puppy, knowing that I'm going to have both of them, individually. Any trace of sympathy for Tweek has completely evaporated, even as wail after chilling wail is torn from his already raw throat, even as he sobs relentlessly into the stirred-up pillows, staining them, even as blood and cum join the dirty mess and their entwined cries grown higher and louder, reaching up to the ceiling and pressing against the walls of the small room, until finally they subside. Craig falls back with a sultry, delighted groan of pleasure, and Tweek rocks back and forth, faint, almost inaudible echoes of his former shrieks tainting the heated air. I tuck my hands into my pockets, smirking at the two of them, and take a couple of steps forward.

"My turn?" I question lightly.

"P-please," Tweek hiccups, "n-no more… please, no more…"

"Shut up," Craig snaps.

"Slut," I add.

"You _are _a slut," Craig agrees, looking oddly pleased, then tacks "Little whore" onto the end with apparent relish.

"N-no… YOU'RE THE SLUT, ASS FUCKER!" Tweek screeches, then holds his hands up to his face, hiding his reddened eyes behind shaking fingers. His breathing is ragged and uneven, and his whole body draws away from Craig, pushing itself against the bedframe.

Craig slowly draws himself up to his full height, towering over him. "_Excuse _me?" he asks softly, eyes dancing with danger as his hands curl into tight fists.

Tweek quakes, but doesn't take his words back. His next sentence is muffled. "I-I said, _y-you're the_ slut, ass f-fucker…"

"Look who's _talking!_" Craig bellows. "Let me see you _eat _those words!"

"You're pathetic," I spit in Tweek's direction.

"_Very _pathetic," Craig agrees harshly. He glances over at me. "You ready to punish him, Ken?"

"P-please… Kenny… you're better than this…" Tweek chokes.

My eyes rove back and forth between the two of them. _You're better than this. _Am I, really? What is there that I could do to help Tweek, anyways? This is already what I've told myself I'm going to do. There's no use revoking my determination. I'm going to fuck them. I'm going to fuck them both, and I'm going to enjoy it, whether or not they do. Craig was right. Tweek's nothing but a little slut.

"Very ready," I declare in a low growl, and start for the bed.


	2. TWO

**A/N** _Hi again! Here's chapter two, containing a smut scene that I may or may not have failed at ;3 The lack of favorites/alerts thus far has been a bit discouraging, but I'm keeping my hopes up that some might pile on as the story progresses. Once again, reviews are greatly appreciated, and they only take a few moments of your time! Please? ;w;_

**Thanks to** _anon_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**TWO**

"Please."

Tweek's lips keep moving in the ghost of a plea, a frantic, desperate beg for mercy. His hands are woven in the stained sheets, and he looks so _tiny, _a half-dead animal, his soft, innocent green eyes standing out against his paling skin as the last traces of a flush drain away from it. _Please, please, please. Please. Please. Please. _My name's in there, too, I think, his teeth showing in a terrified grimace for the _K _and even more so for the _Y, _soundless as he scrambles back farther and farther. _Kenny. Kenny. _And his head is shaking back and forth, an oddly slow and hollow motion, like he's already given up but can't quite admit it to himself. He's exhausted, he's worn out, he's _done… _

Just how I like them.

"Nice try." I laugh bitterly, and the short, sharp sound carries the loneliness of a thousand cold nights with no one to comfort me. I never had anyone, not once. Why the fuck should Tweek? God knows he deserves it even less than me. He _is _a little slut, a complete whore, and he's never done anything, he's never been the fucking hero and had to save all of his friends, time and time again, only for them not to remember in the morning…

And yet there's something about Tweek, despite his grunginess, some sort of—beacon of innocence—

_Beacon of innocence? _What the fuck am I saying? I sound like one of the shit poems that we have to read in school. _Stop wasting time, Ken. Just get into it. You won't have to think once it's happening. _Taking a low breath, I stretch out my shoulders a bit, easing out the stressed cramps that have somehow worked their way into them. Loosening myself up. Getting ready, preparing.

He groans lowly as I slink onto the bed, gently dispersing my weight across the mattress so that it doesn't creak, just sinks down a bit lower. One of my hands floats forwards almost tentatively, caressing his shoulder, tracing smooth patterns up his forearm and fingering the bristly rope, touching the place where it's cut into his wrists, where they're red and raw and bleeding copiously. The red liquid gleams oddly in the low lighting, looking oddly orange, like traces of ketchup or perhaps concentrated carrot juice. Oddly intriguing. And there's so _much _of it, a light sheen like the glaze of sweat in trails across his skin.

My other hand joins the first, and now I'm slowly massaging the soft spot where his shoulders join his neck, feeling how easily the skin moves at my command, how silky it is, how… pure, how soon to be destroyed.

Maybe it's the utter _softness _of his neck that makes me go in for it first, even before kissing him on the lips. I just can't resist the urge, and end up with my arms secured tight around his back, fingers entwined in each other, mouth pressed to his collarbone. I pull back my lips like a snarling hyena, my teeth now pressing against the softness of his flesh, and give it a small nip, as if I'm testing a bit of steak. Not that my family's ever been able to afford anything shit-expensive like that; the only sort of pleasure I get is the cheap kind, not the absurdly rich luxury of eating dinner at some fancy-ass restaurant. Nope, I just get the easiest type, the cruelest type.

This type.

My mouth moves up to his neck, and my lips press on it insistently, my teeth running a sharp edge under the initially soft over-current. Tweek whimpers softly, the sound steadily growing louder as I approach his jaw. It's irritating. Growling with annoyance, I pull back for a moment, then strike in furiously to his mouth, silencing him with a stifling kiss. He's so _soft, _like a girl, not the other, rougher guys I've done. Girly little Tweek.

Pathetic.

Everything, _everything _about him is completely and utterly pathetic.

I force my tongue into his mouth, feeling around, tasting him. He's flavored like coffee, which is far from a surprise. Is that the only type of nutrient that the kid even comes near consuming? Still, I don't mind. The dark aroma of the familiar drink snakes down my windpipe, seeming to fill my lungs with thick, chocolate-colored smoke, until it's the only thing I'm aware of apart from his hot lips and tongue. My hands are moving faster now, racing around the small of his back, up his shoulders, down to his forearms and gripping them, gripping them too tightly, so that he squeaks in protest. I almost hesitate, then remember that I don't care if he protests, because I'm going all-in now, I'm not holding myself back, not one tiny fucking bit.

My fingers twitch and probe rather swiftly down his spine, fingering its base, then curling around his skinny ass, rubbing my fingers over the baby-smooth skin and grinning against his protesting mouth. He whimpers and attempts to slide backwards, but, having nothing to gain purchase on, he ends up only slipping slightly sideways. I whip one hand out and use it to steady him, keeping the other one in place much farther down.

"Ow," he yelps as I give a particularly rough squeeze.

Craig's harsh laugh dances around the edges of my hearing, and I hear him mutter lowly "this is hot…"

Well, then. If it's my job to please, I can put on quite a performance.

"F-fuck…" Tweek gasps.

I utter a low 'ha' in response.

"'Fuck you?'" I can practically feel Craig's grin. "He's up for it, you know…"

I suddenly slip my leg in between Tweek's, wrapping my thigh around his calf, and slide it up, dangerously close to his most sensitive place. Now we're entwined top and bottom, though my clothes are still on. Then I keep kissing him, harder and harder, until I'm suffocating, we're _both _suffocating under the insane pressure. I can't stand it anymore. Even if this is Tweek, even if I don't have any feelings for him and I'm honestly not attracted to him, either, I'm about to fuck the guy, and I'm feeling the energy necessary for such an action heating up inside of me, concentrating down under, propelling me to go faster, to bite harder.

But my fucking pants are still in the way.

Irritated, I pull back for just a moment, making sure to keep Tweek fixated under my pale blue gaze, and slide my thumbs under my own waistband, yanking it down vigorously. He winces at the sight of my straining boxers, and I just smirk at him, easily removing them as well. My shirt seems to be off already, though I can't recall exactly when that happened—no biggie, since the last few minutes are pretty much a heated blur.

"…There we go," I breathe, and I move in closer again, pressing in hard on all levels, hearing his drawn-out groan and struggling to bite back my own. I want to persevere, to save my vocal cords' strength until they're _really _necessary. Which, hopefully, should be rather soon.

I kick him into a more comfortable position like a body pillow, ignoring his sharp squeaks, and grasp one side of his bony ribcage, rubbing my thumb along the tight-stretched skin, clutching his shoulder with the other.

"Anything… you want to say to me?" Somehow, I'm already out of breath. I suck in a deep lungful of air in an attempt to fix this, and it whooshes out in a puff as the sudden abundance of oxygen sends a haze of lightheadedness through me. I shake my head jerkily, blinking strands of my own golden hair out of my eyes. "Want to call _me _a slut?"

I can't deny that it wouldn't be an entirely unfounded accusation if he was to take me up on this dare. I probably do more people in a week than some guys in the school have in their whole lives. Still, I like to think of it as my occupation of sorts. It's what I _do, _as unconventional as it may be. Sex isn't just pleasure for me—it's money, it's entertainment, it's a fucking _lifestyle. _Quite literally, a _fucking _lifestyle. And one that I'm completely happy with.

Kissing him again, I can feel his teeth clenched furiously on his tongue, trying to hold back his own words. I whisper my next sentence against his lips, exhaling heavily down his throat.

"…Didn't think so."

He explodes.

"Y-you _bitch!_" Tweek screams, and I can taste the salt of fresh tears streaming down his bright red cheeks and into both of our mouths. His teeth cut into my bottom lip, adding the iron tang of blood to the concoction, but I just pull him in closer, tugging at his neck insistently when he tries to retreat. "You fucking whore, you fucking _ass rapist! _You will _pay _for this, Kenny McCormick! I will _cut off your fucking dick _if I have to!"

"Ah," I hiss out, holding back for just a few more seconds, drinking in every one of his words, released in bloodcurdling screeches, like cigarettes, like booze. "…_there _we go."

I penetrate him with a single rough thrust, and his next scream seems to slice through my eardrums, but I ignore it. Well, perhaps I don't _ignore—_in fact, it just makes me go harder, pushing with all the force I can muster—and, I might as well say right now, that is a _hell _of a lot. I'm hurting him, not having bothered with any type of lubricant, though I myself am strengthened against anything damaging like that. He's _tearing, _but I don't care, because all I can focus on or care about right now is trying to get closer to him, trying to work harder, faster, stronger—

I laugh as he wails, the sound a half-moan, a raw, primal noise of pleasure. This feels so damn _good. _The phrase _better than sex _is such a ridiculous one, I reflect vaguely. So inaccurate. Because nothing could be better than this, this is motherfucking heaven—no, this is _Tweek-fucking _heaven, which, I'm sure, is a hell of a lot better than the initial alternative. Craig wasn't kidding, he really _is _good—not as a partner, per se, but as a sort of… toy. Yeah, a toy. Fun to play with, fun to… see how he stretches. This is a new type of sex for me, and that isn't a thing that's easy to find. I'm used to having at least _some _sort of concern for the one I'm working with, but this is just, well…

This is _rape. _

It's a bit disconcerting to realize, and I go cold for a moment, pausing with my cock still in. I'm raping him, I'm raping Tweek. It's a new sort of destruction—before, people I've done have always been willing…

Fuck that, though. It's too late to revoke my decision. My decision that I _already fucking made, _so why can't I just get on with it?

I can. I can get on with it, and I do, toppling Tweek over and pinning him insistently to the bed, pulling out for a moment and not caring that he cries harder when his hands are wrenched into the air by the insistent rope. His legs are tangled in the sweaty, stained sheets, and mine are, too—in fact, I can't quite seem to tell whose are whose. Not that it matters, at this point. Not that it matters one tiny little fucking bit.

I reach forward and insistently grab a handful of his hair, pulling it hard, breathing raggedly into his ear, my lips tickling it fiercely. "Want to… repeat… that?" I get out between heavy gasps. I'm not quite nearing a climax yet, so we're going to whether or not he's willing, but might as well taunt him with an imaginary chance.

"Let me go, _motherfucker!_" Tweek bawls. "You _asshole!_"

"The only asshole that I'm interested is yours," I purr in response, then force myself in again, banging our bodies together, gripping and probably bruising him in most every possible place, sinking my teeth into his neck and lapping up the salty layer of moisture gleaming along the top of his flushed skin. It's delicious, and I work my way down towards his shoulders, sucking Tweek's sweat, relaxing the bottom half of my body for a brief moment.

It catches up with me suddenly, a seemingly random surge of energy, and I know that this is it. I throw myself forward one last time, really giving it everything I have, letting all of my energy surge through both of us, hearing his high-pitched shriek matched by my own breathless yell, and then it releases. I don't bother to pull out, instead relaxing right on top of him, letting everything flow out of me, feeling my whole body tingle furiously with a pleasure so utterly intense that I practically see stars. My vision is nothing but a red haze, my mind and body in a similar state, and I've never felt better.

Then I take a slow, shaky breath and roll over, hearing Tweek's tiny, practically inaudible sigh of relief as I let him go, flopping onto my back and gazing lazily at the ceiling. Every muscle in my body is suddenly exhausted. I marvel at Craig's ability to stand proud and casual nearby, considering that he's just gone through the exact same thing as me and probably has less experience to work off of, to build stamina with. He's fucking badass, that guy.

He's also next on my list.

At the moment, though, the concept is insane. All I can imagine doing is drifting off into a drugged sleep, letting my body recover its energy through natural means, through wonderful darkness that refills my muscles with essential force, preparing myself for tomorrow…

God, yeah, tomorrow. I'll have to be ready for that. It's a Saturday night, so I'll probably be expected to hold up quite a bit… shit. I'll just have to sleep half the day, maybe head down to the gas station and get a couple of those cheap stimulants they have there. Speaking of which, I think I have some on me… of course, Craig probably wouldn't be very impressed by my need for something of that nature… maybe I can go downstairs telling him that I want coffee or something.

Because, for some reason, I don't want Craig Tucker to see me as weak. It's weird. Usually, I couldn't give less of a shit what people think of me. But with Craig, well, I… I want him to keep liking me. Every time that we have a successful communication, I feel like I've _achieved _something, as gay as that sounds. Like—like I'm… oh, God, I don't even know. It's weird. He makes me _happy, _and I don't want him to look down on me, I really don't. It's that simple.

"…There we go," I finally mutter, heaving myself up on my forearms and wincing slightly as my skull throbs in protest. I force my arms to stretch, working out the slight kinks that have settled in from my minute or so of lying back in a decidedly uncomfortable position. "Not too bad," I acknowledge with a casual glance in Tweek's direction.

"Dude." I look over towards Craig, to see that he's pulled his own pants back all the way up, shirt still off. His eyes are wide and one dark, sleek eyebrow raised in apparent acknowledgement of a job well done. "That was hot."

"Why, thank you." I direct a half-assed kick in Tweek's direction. He doesn't react, just stays there, curled up in a tiny, crumpled heap, shaking with silent tears.

"Wasn't it fun? With that tiny body…" The pleasure in Craig's voice is disgusting, acidic, and yet I can't help but nod along with it, because, screw morality, it _was _fun, I did like being able to hurt him. It felt good. Powerful. And I like powerful. People tend to look down on me, so gaining a significant position, even in something as primitive as fucking, is ridiculously pleasing to me.

So I scoff "You bet" and rise to my feet with a grumble, the floorboards creaking underneath me. The bed springs up significantly as my weight departs it, and Tweek's breath hitches up slightly at it, causing him to give a hacking cough in the middle of one of his sobs.

"P-please…"

I glance back at him and instantly wish I hadn't. His eyes are half-closed, but the glimmer of green that I can through the swollen redness and desperate tears is hateful, accusing. He really _detests _me now, though I was probably at least somewhat in his good books before. Oh, well. Just another one to add to the list. Sometimes, it seems like there isn't a single fucking person out there who doesn't hate me for some reason or another. Sure, they'll _screw _me, but that doesn't mean that they like me at all. Of course, I've probably caused them all plenty enough pain to deserve it.

"F-forgive me?" Tweek whispers, his scratchy voice barely audible. "I… don't know what I did to deserve this, but…"

He's done nothing, of course. Too bad. "No need to ask for forgiveness," I snap, annoyed by his daring to speak up. "You've just paid plenty. Of course, if I'm right, your debt will be renewed fairly soon…" If Craig wants to keep going in the future, and I'm sure he will. Judging by the state of the bruises on Tweek's body, this sort of thing has been happening for weeks, maybe even months now. Craig certainly doesn't see any reason to stop, so why should he?

"W-what do you mean?" he stammers. "I… I just…" His tears are silent now, cascading down his slippery, reddened cheeks, running in trails along his neck. He makes no move to wipe them away, though—not that he could, I suppose, seeing as his hands are still tied. It's in a limp way that he hangs from these makeshift cuffs, like he's ready to just give up completely. Even his head dangles awkwardly, sideways, in a way that must cramp, but he seemingly has no energy to fix its position. "I don't… I wanted someone… to cuddle with. Not someone to… use my body."

_Well, you're just going to have to put up with it, aren't you? Because if that's what you wanted, you shouldn't have hooked up with Craig Tucker. _"You're too tasty to pass by, little guy." I refer to him with the diminutive even though he's less than a year younger than me, and honestly not _all _that much smaller, though coffee indeed has stunted his growth a considerable amount.

"I just wanted happiness," he says simply.

Now, _that's _a bit too melodramatic for my tastes. _I just wanted happiness. _Pathetic. No one just wants _happiness. _There are all kinds of things you can achieve in your life if you try, but happiness isn't one of them, not at all. It's an illusion, an impossible dream that's no more real than fucking Harry Potter magic. I snort in disbelief.

"I… I thought Craig was going to keep protecting me… like he did when I was younger…"

_Protecting you? Be grateful that you _ever _had someone to protect you. _Me, I never have. I've been the protector, but not the protected. How many people have I saved from inevitable death over the course of the years? Dying countless times myself, meanwhile. It just goes to show how grateful people are. Fuck, they don't even recall my efforts in the morning. Maybe that's why I gave up a couple of years ago, gave up playing the hero. Maybe it just wasn't worth it anymore.

"Well, the thing is," I reply simply, "you were born in South Park."

"I—do what you want," he declares suddenly, his eyes opening wider and flicking up to the ceiling. "I don't care anymore."

It's a lie to himself as much as it is to me, and we both know it equally. Still, I suppose it can't hurt for the guy to believe that he's stronger than he is.

"Hey," I go on, changing the subject, "this is Coffee Boy's house, right? I need fucking caffeine… a refresher. Be right back." Still stretching, I pull my parka on in an apparently careless act, subtly fingering a box of stimulants concealed inside a pocket, and proceed to make my way out the door, just barely hearing Tweek's "A refresher? Are you going to do it again?" from behind me.

He's ridiculously naïve. Of course I'm not going to do it again; he's fun enough once around, but it would get a bit dull when repeated, I have to confess. I need someone to work _with _me, not against me. Chances are that he'd be even more passive this time, too, and I really can't say I'm interested in doing something that doesn't so much as respond to me.

Craig, however, promises more, so much more. I'm looking forward to him so much that it's a bit crazy—even his voice, thrown after my retreating back, causes a small leap of anticipation in my chest.

"Dude, I'm still going strong… you'd expect the master of sex to have more stamina…"

The excitement quickly turns cold, and I furiously glare at a framed portrait hanging in the stupidly decorated hallway. It's a warm picture of familial contentment—Tweek and his parents all clustered around a coffee table, grinning casually. The little blondie is right in the center of the frame, his shaky fingers sealed tight around the width of a mug, his smile looking more like a twitchy grimace. Cute. Also so _fake. _No family is like that, all happy and shit. Not anymore. Not in South Park.

Right? Surely it's not just mine that sucks so fucking badly…

No, of course not.

"Well, yeah," I invent, "but I need some prompting if I want to do it extra well! You're up next, you know." It's what I hope to be a subtle flirt. Just thank God that he doesn't know my genuine intentions.

"Yeah, I know that, Ken!"

I can barely hear his last shout, as I'm already starting down the stairs. They creak as I descend them, seemingly displeased that I interrupt their rest. Too fucking bad. I give the final step an extra kick out of annoyance from the sound it's projecting before stepping into the kitchen.

Right. To business.

I swipe the battered box of sex pills out of my pocket and rip it open, quickly popping one into my mouth and gulping, wincing as it travels roughly down my throat. Will one be enough? Knowing that it's probably a bad idea, I swallow a second, then swing open one of the cabinets lining Tweek's eyes and pull out a small mug. Cheers. It takes less than four seconds to locate the nearest bag of instant, and practically less to take care of preparing it. Soon enough, I have a nice, hot little cup of liquid heaven sitting on the counter.

Okay, maybe not liquid heaven. The stuff is fucking disgusting.

The Tweaks' coffee may be good when it's made _properly, _but this is just complete shit. I guess even their excellent standards couldn't raise that of old-fashioned, shitty instant coffee. Ugh. I gulp it down anyway, knowing that the caffeine can't hurt. Shit, I'm going to be buzzing. It'll work out nicely, though. The pills are already starting to take effect, and just the thought of his black hair and dark grin has me twitching.

But I force myself to sit down at the little round kitchen table, staring into the murky cup of coffee and listening to the ambient tick of the clock. I'm not quite ready to go back up there yet, not quite past my post-climax exhaustion. My fingers tap along the edge of the table in sync with the seconds echoing through the small room. Though I'm sure that Craig and Tweek upstairs aren't completely silent, I can't hear them at all over the muffling silence. I take another swig of my drink, and the sound of my swallow seems thunderous.

I glance out one of the windows positioned above the sink. Though it can't be past ten-thirty, the streets are completely silent—parties and shit have probably drawn most of the residents of this area away for the night. Even the lights in the lines of houses across from us are out. The neighborhood is sleeping, it would seem. 'Course, we're doing anything but, Craig and Tweek and I.

I sometimes wonder if things would have been different if I was born into a different family. Y'know, one not shit-poor, one with parents who actually gave a fuck about their kids. My life isn't awful. I mean, I get through it. But I hear these stories, all these insane stories about going to the zoo or an amusement park, about taking a family vacation to California or even Italy, about photo albums and Christmases with presents not wrapped in paper bags, about… well… _traditions. _Families. _Love. _I honestly doubt that my own set of "loved ones" would notice if I was to just disappear. Well, Karen would, probably. The rest… I honestly doubt it, quite a bit. Kyle's mom would freak if he was to vanish, not to mention Stan's and Cartman's. Tweek's would probably be concerned enough to file some sort of report. I honestly don't know about Craig's.

I _don't _know about Craig's, and that's oddly intriguing. Not that I need to or anything, but… every time I think of someone at school, I can name their general position at home. And yet with Craig, I seem to draw a blank. I can't really see him with parents who care about him all that much, and yet I also can't imagine why they wouldn't. He's a rebel, yeah, but… maybe they're alcoholics or something. Yeah, that would make sense. He has a younger sister, too, I remember with a slight jolt. Renee… no—Rebecca? Ruby, that's it. Ruby.

I wonder if he feels the same fear for Ruby that I do for Karen.

But that would be ridiculous. Of course he doesn't. I mean, this is _Craig _I'm talking—thinking—about. He doesn't give a fuck about anyone. If he did, Tweek wouldn't be going through what he is right now.

And yet I like to think that I care about Karen, and that hasn't stopped me from—from raping the poor blonde kid upstairs.

_Still. _I'm—I'm just _better _than Craig in some undefinable way. I have to be. I have to have _some _sort of boundary, something that defines me, that makes me superior. I've got to. I mean, he's the epitome of a totally fucked-up childhood and, so far, teenage life. Not to say that I'm not, too, but—well…

There's got to be _something. _

It's the realization that, quite honestly, there's not a thing about me better than him that prompts it. There's no better time to prove myself than now. I'll stop being Craig's little toy, screwing Tweek for his entertainment—I'll fucking rescue the kid like good old motherfucking Mysterion, I'll go up there and I'll give Craig what he wants—the stimulants have ensured that that can't be avoided at this point—and then I'll find a way to make him leave the room, something, I'll take Tweek and I'll get him out of this goddamn house, I'll bring him to my house, or to the police station, anywhere… even as the plan forms, I'm already starting to feel better. I hadn't realized how shitty my emotions had been, but now that I have action on my mind, things are looking a good deal brighter.

"Goddammit!" Craig's voice is extremely loud and quite sudden, and it causes me to flinch, nearly knocking over my half-empty coffee mug. "How long does it take to make fucking coffee?"

"Not long," I mutter, then realize that there's no way he could have heard me from all the way upstairs. I half-throw the cup into the sink, slightly displeased when it refuses to shatter, and take a final long, deep breath, preparing myself for what's coming next.

"_Kenny!_" Craig yells again.

"Coming!" I reply quickly, raising my voice so that it carries all the way up to Tweek's room.

Fuck yes, I'm coming. And once I'm there, screw passiveness. I'm going to do whatever it takes to save this poor kid from his abusive boyfriend, and to hell with the consequences.


	3. THREE

**A/N** _Nothing much to say here, I s'pose ;3 Please review!_

**Thanks to** _Lacey__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**THREE**

"_No— no, I want it to be over!_"

Tweek's sobs ring through the stairwell as I begin to ascend, each step feeling weighted down. It's hard, going somewhere with an actual _purpose _consisting of anything other than to simply please myself. The knowledge that people, whether or not they know it, are relying on me is a bit unsettling, and I'm just relieved that Tweek isn't yet aware of my plan—if so, I might be crushed under the pressure.

"Well, howdy there," Craig greets me with sneering sarcasm as I step inside, running my fingers along the doorframe. He seems a few feet closer to Tweek than he was when I left, and I wonder briefly if he had been whispering things to him that I didn't hear— painful things, cutting remarks that reduced the blonde boy to the quivering heap that he currently consists of. _I'm sorry, _I think in Tweek's direction. I wonder for a moment why it is that I feel so obligated to protect _him, _of all people. This is Tweek fucking Tweak, possibly the single person in the school who I'm _least _attached to. I would do it for anyone, though, I guess. It just happens to be him.

"Well, it is over for you, pretty much." My lips frame the words, but I'm hardly even aware of saying them. They're a reflex at this point, just automatic noises to fill the silence, to offer my part in the three-way dynamic. "There isn't much left to do with him, is there?" I continue, turning to Craig and grinning slightly. "It's between you and me, now."

"Yup," he agrees evenly, looking remarkably unfazed considering what I'm proposing. "S'pose it is."

There's an excitement taking root in my chest, almost eclipsing what I tell myself are my true intentions. I'm about to screw Craig Tucker—motherfucking badass Craig Tucker. It's only when the moment is so close that I realize just how much I've been looking forward to it, for months, years, even. Whether or not it's the aura he wants to project, the thing about Craig is that he's pretty much the ultimate sex goal. When someone sees him, sees that dark handsomeness, they automatically feel challenged, want to make it theirs. And now I'm going to get it. I'm sorely tempted to go to school Monday, just to rub this fact in everyone else's faces—an image forms momentarily in my mind, of the two of us actually _dating, _entering school with his strong arm around my thin shoulders—

But, no. I don't date guys, because I'm not gay. Besides, Craig's with Tweek—that's a fact as solid as the Earth's revolution around the Sun. It's always been like that, in a way, no one except for the most naive of girls daring to approach either of the boys, since they so clearly belonged with each other.

And look at me now. One of them dripping with my cum, the other watching me with the tip of his tongue curled around his upper lip, eyes flashing with smoldering invitation. I take a slow step forward, Tweek fading from my perception, focusing entirely on Craig. My insides are writhing with frantic anticipation, and it's all I can do not to lunge for him right here and now, to restrain myself. Craig doesn't necessarily seem like the hugest fan of foreplay, but the idea of taunting him pleases me ridiculously. I advance slowly, and he gazes back, his hungry eyes fixated on my body, which they rove up and down swiftly. He's fully pulled his pants back on since fucking Tweek, but his shirt is off, exposing so much glistening, clear skin, and my fingers twitch at the prospect of running across it, feeling it... any moment, one of us is going to make a move forward, and then—

My phone beeps with the sound of a text alert.

"_Fuck_," I hiss, infuriated by the shattered moment. I lift the device from my pocket, glance down at the number on the screen. Fucking Bebe Stevens, of all people. _Are you busy tonight? Parents are out, and I'm bored. _Well, isn't that subtle. I consider just ignoring it, then decide to injure her for being obnoxious enough to disrupt me.

_Very busy. With Craig and Tweek. Both of them, at once. _Good enough. I hit _send _and make sure to switch off the sound on the phone before tossing it to the ground.

"Who was that?" Craig asks, sounding vaguely bored.

"Bebe. Don't worry, I really couldn't be less tempted by her... offers... considering what I've got right here." I give him a tiny smile, taunting, girlish, almost shy. "So... where were we, again?"

"Right here," he murmurs huskily, then closes the distance between us in a single step, his slender fingers gripping me by the front of the parka and pulling me in roughly, so that my feet stumble along the floor. My breath seems to rush out of my lungs all at once, and I don't have time to replenish it before Craig's lips are covering mine, and I sputter a bit stupidly, but quickly recover myself as he practically bends me over in his eagerness, so much that it feels like he was the one to take the stimulants, not me. His energy is amazing, and no matter which side my unbalanced body slips to, his strong arms are there, so that I feel practically like a fairytale princess, body arching against his furious attack. I struggle for air, at the same time kissing him back enthusiastically, battling his tongue and teeth with my own, and black swims before my eyes, a fuzz lingering around the edges of my mind. With a tremendous effort that I never would have been able to muster without the pills, I manage to right myself, pulling back long enough to take back a great gasp of oxygen and then returning to him again. It's so rough, so unmeasured, that I don't even reach his mouth, so that I'm instead licking and sucking any bit of skin that I can reach whether it be cheek, jaw, or neck.

Fuck.

He's _good. _

"Wh-what's going to happen here?" Tweek chokes from the bed. I can't quite pinpoint where we are in relation to it; everything is spinning, actually, and the only thing I have to hang onto in the fiery chaos is Craig— not that I'm anywhere near complaining. Because he's a good thing to root myself to, a good, solid, warm thing—verging on hot—and I don't want to let go anytime soon.

But he does, of course, the bastard, and I'm swaying slightly, gripping his upper arms and swearing under my breath because he's so damn good, better than me, the fucking _man whore. _My eyes run over his body, the long legs and the waistband of his dark jeans, which is— shit— low enough to just about murder my dick. I'm lucky as hell that he can't see, since my parka is so low. God, if he knew just how much he turned me on, he'd probably think that I'm a pushover, and I'm Kenny McCormick, I'm not. But, damn, I've never seen a body like his. It briefly occurs to me that it's hardly a wonder why Tweek's put up with him for so long; I can't imagine leaving someone this fucking sexy, no matter how awfully he treated me.

My eyes flicker up to meet his, and I internally quail under their inviting navy-blue menace. God, they really are a spectacular color. Like one of those summer nights, when the sky is just a shade or two away from totally jet-black, with those subtle flourishes of sapphire—if you could take every last star out of that, leaving only the pure, velvety darkness behind—that shade, that would be the color of Craig's eyes.

"Ready?" he purrs. Jesus, his voice. So low, rumbling and provocative, seeming to not just hit, but rather bang a fucking iron mallet against every one of my buttons, until I'm so on I can hardly manage to breathe.

"Ready," I gasp back. Fuck. I sound like some swooning princess. Using all of my self-control, I force myself to stop clutching at him, a casual smirk flitting over my kiss-swollen lips, which I have to fight to keep shut.

I want him. I want him so _bad. _

Shit, he's letting me go. At least, his hands are slowly leaving my shoulders, and he's calmly sitting down, folding into a gangly shadow on the floor, his irises gleaming under the ragged black swipe of his bangs, inviting me to join him.

I certainly don't have a problem with that.

I half-slump, half-kneel down, making my way to a lower height. I can barely hear a thing over the rabid thumping of my own heart and the breaths cutting through my lungs, but I think Tweek's whimpering. Not that I give a _fuck _at this point. It's all Craig. He's so _beautiful, _as faggy as that sounds. There's really no other word to describe it.

Unable to resist any longer, I begin to lean in, my hair slipping down and tickling at my eyes. I ignore the golden blonde strands, though, because, fucking hell, his leg is slipping between mine, he can feel that there's nothing underneath now, he can feel how mother _fucking _hard I am, and I didn't think it could get any worse, but—shit, _shit, _how is he so damn casual? Why can't _I _do that? I'm sure his sexy coolness is much more appealing than my flush-faced desperation right now. My thighs twitch and, practically of their own accord, squeeze together, and a tiny moan, impossible to restrain, slips out of my mouth.

The low growl from the direction of the bed is, this time, unmistakable. Goddamn Tweek, what does he want now? There's no way that he's _jealous... _God, of course he's jealous. Who _possibly _couldn't be, considering the fact that I have his sexy-as-fucking-hell boyfriend up next to me, considering that he's—

_Fuck, _he's got my dick now.

I can't prevent the tiny spasms that run through me with every prod of his long, strong fingers, and I actually have to bite down on my tongue hard enough to taste the coppery metallic hint of blood to stop from moaning luxuriously. I don't want to hold back anymore, I really fucking don't, and yet... the more I draw it out, the more amazing it'll be when it comes... he's topping. That's pre-arranged, I remind myself frantically. I'm not even going to be able to _use _my cock, but—of course, why the hell should _it _care? It's fine with hardening up like a fucking rock, not listening to my frantic demands it give me a little leeway here. I'm as bad as some girl first time round, and I do people every _week. _

My hand is snaking out without my permission, fluttering down Craig's back and working against the tight grip of his jeans, touching his ass, groping at it—Jesus Christ, yes... somehow, my other fingers are massaging his foreleg gently, hooking around his waistband, tugging it downwards, wanting more, more... he's leaning forward, his lips tracing patterns on my chest, everything is twinging and I can't bear it any longer, I can't fucking bear it...

The next words might be the best I've ever heard in my life— as deep and garbled as they are, as rough and smoky and grungy, I can't deny the fact that they fucking light me up from the inside.

"Screw this, I'm not playing around anymore."

"Oh, God, yes." I can't stop the words from whooshing out of my mouth, because he's tossing me forward, his hands hot and demanding on my parka, and then it's off, it's being flung across the room so violently that I hear an inexplicably loud slam that must be it hitting the wall. I seem to have forgotten how to breathe—that is, my lungs are most certainly moving in and out, but nothing seems to be reaching my bloodstream. God. Look at him. He's just so... so _smoldering. _Mine... I get that. If only for a night, an hour, five minutes, Craig Tucker is mine—fucking mine and no one else's, just as I'm his.

My eyes are half-lidded, the dark curtain semi-shielding my view of him. I want to fix it, but can't quite manage to move those delicate muscles. My body, right now, is programmed for heavy, rough movements, not things as trivial as opening my eyes a bit wider.

A grin glints above me, and he leans down until our lips are just barely brushing, our chests doing the same. My hands suddenly struggle faster than ever, _forcing _his jeans off, burning the skin as I yank them away at an absurd pace, leaving nothing between us, absolutely nothing. He wastes no time, proceeding to snake his arms tight around me, his elbows digging fiercely into the tight, skinny muscles of my lower back. I wail faintly like a pained cat, but it's not pain I'm experiencing, not at all. Jesus, does life get any _better? _It briefly crosses my mind that I'm supposed to be saving Tweek, but fuck that, this is... so much better, so much more important than any of that shit. Something that can only be his cock brushes against my leg in a motion that's far from light, and my own twinges insanely, and then—God, God, _fucking _God— that's him, he's approaching me, entering me, and I think I'm screaming but can't be sure because _damn, _everything's fucking flaming, if he wanted me to say I was his bitch right now I wouldn't hesitate, not for a single second, I would yell it, shout it into the empty house—I think I am, in fact, or at least _something's _scorching my windpipes, and I can't quite imagine what it would be if not my yells.

He's pushing harder, and each thrust is an explosion, a little fucking bomb right into my ass, and a _good _one, a fucking heavenly one. I've gone beyond anything, there aren't any _words _to describe this... he had me so easily, because I know I'm not going to last much longer... Craig's going to think I'm no more resistant than goddamn Wendy, but too motherfucking bad, this is worth it, this is worth _everything... _but he's talking. Shit, he's talking. Am I supposed to _listen? _As hard as such a thing sounds, his words still manage to worm their way into my brain, slinking through my radar with purring, dark chocolate-flavored subtleness.

"Now, come on, dirty bitch... I know you have it in you..."

My eyes actually manage to focus for something, and I think I'm looking at the floor, though I'm not entirely sure how that happened, since the last thing I can remember staring at is Craig's face. Not complaining, though—I just have to see him again, and based on his last request, fulfilling such a desire will serve a dual purpose. So I twist, an agonizing and absolutely spectacular movement, hear his harsh hiss of delighted pain and catch a glimpse of his absurdly bright blue-black eyes before sinking back to my position on the dusty, hard floor, my ass throbbing like hell, only wanting more.

"Ah—fuck yeah," he mumbles, and it delivers some little extra surges of pleasure to hear that fantastic musky voice sounding so aroused in response to... to, well, _me. _I'm Kenny McCormick, I'm the skinny-ass whore that anyone with five bucks can have, and he's Craig Tucker, the tall-and-dark one who no one dares to approach for so much as homework help. It doesn't make sense that we'd be enjoying each other this much, but somehow we are, and I wouldn't possibly have it any other way.

His lips flutter against my ear, so that far too many chills singe my spine, slipping more words into my stream of consciousness. "When you twisted... it felt good." I can feel his crooked grin even if my eyes are shut too tightly to see it, and there's not a thing in the world that could stop me for giving him anything he wanted right now. I repeat the action, harder and faster this round, and we both yell at the same time, his voice slightly deeper than mine, our cries together filling the space that we and Tweek occupy.

Tweek... I've practically forgotten about that little fucking stick by now. Doing him was _pathetic _compared to Craig. Absolutely, utterly, and completely pathetic. And the thing is, he wasn't even that _bad, _considering that he was fucking handcuffed to the bed and all. But Craig is like God. It's almost ridiculous. I wonder for a moment where he gets all his practice—any girl and half the guys at school would be willing for him to screw them any day, but as far as I know, he remains isolated. The thought, however, is blasted out of my mind as he thrusts even harder.

There's a rough rustling from where I'm guessing the bed must be, and Craig hisses out a "Stop making noise... bitch" that I can't possibly agree with more.

"No—no, I _won't!_" The defensive squeak is so ridiculous that I actually manage to scoff despite my position, a cursory noise that's quickly morphed into a long, rasping one by Craig's well-timed thrust. I'm not going to make it—hell, I've already lasted way longer than I expected... I guess I just don't want it to stop.

"You _two!_" Tweek shrieks.

"Kenny, I... I think I may be in love with you," Craig mumbles hoarsely.

And it's _that, _that ridiculous, pathetic, princess-and-sparkles statement that no one, no _real _person can honestly say, that makes this night a perfect one. God, I must be so gay, so _impossibly, _faggishly gay to actually _like _hearing those words, but I do, I fucking _do. _They're probably the best thing I've ever heard—my name, in that voice, and... he doesn't mean it, he _can't _mean it, I'm sure he says it to Tweek— who's grown oddly silent— all the time, but that doesn't stop it from sending little fucking butterflies through my stomach, and I might actually freeze up for a second, simply not _knowing _how to react to that... those words, those... damn...

"I— let me _go!_" Tweek wails.

Is he jealous? Am I good enough to give him _reason _to be jealous? Look at me, full of stresses and worries like I haven't been since fourth grade, back when I actually gave a fuck about— well, anything. When I actually cared what happened to me or anyone else, before I decided that nothing was worth it.

Because... somehow... right now, here, with Craig, it feels almost like... almost like things _do _matter again.

Right. There was my spectacular Disney moment. It fucking sickens me to realize just how cheesy I sound in my mind, and I hasten to wipe my mind clear, to focus on nothing but him, just to consume myself with Craig, at the fact that I don't think I can bear the insane pressure building up inside me for much longer... no doubt, it's moments away from happening, seconds, instants—

It happens for both of us at the same time, and it's amazing, fucking _spectacular, _I'm making a sound like nothing I've ever heard in my life— and so is he, but his is better, it's the most beautiful thing ever to touch my ears, this— this, all of this, is perfect, so wonderfully perfect, flamingly perfect, and for the hell of it, I can't even remember what I'm supposed to be doing, though I'm sure there's something— shit, I can't even remember who I am, or where I am, can't... just can't...

"F-fuck," I finally gasp out, a thick shiver running through me. I'm sprawled on the floor, I realize, and Craig is next to me. I let my eyes wander over in his direction to find that he's stretched out in a ridiculously sexy position, arms and legs extended, not showing any sort of modesty concerning his blatant nakedness. Damn, I can't say that I don't mind. I could probably stare at him for days if it didn't make me look like a completely desperate douche who'd never seen another guy's dick before.

"That was..." I begin, then let the words trail off. Somehow, my hand is floating up to Craig's head, gently touching the tips of his sleek hair, weaving between them. He doesn't seem to mind, and I take this as encouragement, stroking him over and over with a series of low, sweet noises that I didn't know I was capable of making. I feel different than I did after Tweek. Instead of exhausted, it's like I'm floating, full of energy and yet perfectly content to stay where I am. It reminds me vaguely of some psychological concept discussed in school some day when I actually attended— flow, or something. A state where the skill level and activity level are both high, when things are being done at a steady rate and the person to be executing them is at a maximum level of satisfaction, creating a sort of natural high, so that...

Well, if the place I can find psychological flow is in screwing Craig Tucker, I'm not one to complain. It's probably the best I've ever felt, and imagining how dull in comparison my night probably would have been had I ignored his text is practically painful.

A snapping sound from the bed reminds me exactly what I'd been planning to do all this time.

Tweek's actually managed to _break through the ropes, _or so it seems— he must have been working at it the whole time that Craig and I were occupied, because they're in stretched-out tatters on the bed beside him, and he seems to be getting along quite well with the duct tape. Moments later, he's ripped through it with his teeth, green eyes flashing with pained fury and face blotchily flushed and yet starkly pale, somehow at the same time. "You _bastards,_" he snarls. For a second, just a tiny, minuscule instant, he seems almost intimidating, some power held in that scrawny frame. But then, just as soon as it appears, it's gone, and I suddenly notice the scars and bruises, some old and some new, lacing their way across his limbs and torso. "I— I thought..." he whispers, but the sound fades away almost instantly, and he looks away, evidently not having the strength to continue.

"Bitch!" I snap reflexively. But it's coming back to me now, everything that I wanted to do before Craig had to come and blow my fucking mind out. Tweek, I was going to rescue Tweek, I was going to prove that I was better than Craig... I still can, I...

I still will.

I _have _to.

Because now the thought is poisoning my mind, dirtying it— the thought that I might actually walk out of this selfishly, with nothing but two magnificent fucks under my nonexistent belt, not giving a shit about the tiny, remarkably innocent (considering his experiences) boy that I'd be leaving to his captor. I wouldn't be able to do that, which just goes to show how utterly pathetic I am. It wouldn't affect me for a few days, but then things would start to fester, I'd grow disgusted with myself, depressed, sickened...

"You two," Tweek chokes. Somehow, there are fresh tears running along his cheeks and neck again, even though I would have thought that he'd have exhausted his supply of them by now. He's definitely going to be dehydrated, I realize vaguely. Hopefully he won't collapse or something in the middle of my trying to get him out of here. Damn, how _am _I going to do that, anyways? I can hardly just lug Craig's boyfriend out with me when I decide to return to my own house for the night.

If Craig even thinks we're _done _here, that is. Chances are that he doesn't, come to think of it. After all, if he can screw us both in a row without blinking— and be dominant both times— then he must have stamina as extensive as fucking North America. God, I should have thought of that. He said— what did he say?— something about me getting "both" of them. But he never specified just how many times I'd go for each. I risk another investigative look, disguised as a glare, in Tweek's direction. He definitely doesn't look like he'll be able to go any longer, and, to be honest, my bizarre Craig high is fading away, so that I'm pretty wiped, myself. If only we were in a bed right now, if only the dark-haired boy who, for those few minutes, had been my lover could be the only other one in the room, in the house, in the world...

My phone beeps.

_What? _It takes me a moment to even process what the sound is, and then I'm scooping up the stupid thing from the pocket of my parka, glancing down, checking to see if South Park's other blonde whore is still pestering me. Sure enough, it's the name _Bebe Stevens _that tops the screen, and her message is ridiculously whiny, or at least it is when I imagine it in her voice— which, right now, is too girly somehow. Not the type of thing I want to be hearing, in my mind or elsewhere.

_I don't get to join you?_

I curl my lip, and am about to send her a very explicit reason why she _absolutely can't _when it suddenly strikes me.

I could take advantage of this.

My fingers move swiftly, and I have to be careful to keep the thing out of Craig's eyesight, so that he doesn't see what I'm doing. _Please listen. Craig's been raping Tweek. He has him held here. Trapped. You need to call the police. Tweek's house. His parents are out. _The next bit is such a stretch for me that I actually hesitate several moments before entering it, but Bebe helping is essential here, no matter what bits of my dignity I might have to sacrifice for such. _Please. _

"Her again," I offer by way of casual explanation when Craig shoots me a look, momentarily distracted from Tweek. His scowling features deepen at my comment, and I just shrug apologetically.

"What does _she _want this time? I thought you made your position... rather clear." His gaze slants towards my still-exposed body with these last words, and I can't say that I mind it all too much.

"Just... just trying to persuade me to ditch you for her." I try to express just how ridiculous I consider this false fact with an exaggerated eye-roll and roomy shrug. "Not that I'm tempted whatsoever, don't you worry. I'm sure that I have... much more to still look forward to tonight." God, why am I flirting with the guy _after _screwing him? And Tweek, too. The stimulants are still stirring slightly in my stomach and some more sensitive areas, that's true, but the mere idea of acting on them vaguely nauseates me. I'm definitely done. There's no reason for Craig to know this, though. So I let the words come out of my mouth, teasing lightly and planting ideas in his mind that'll never be fulfilled. "Stupid." For necessary emphasis, I chuck the phone across the room, internally grateful when the thing doesn't shatter on impact with the uncarpeted ground. It's the most valuable thing I own, and I really don't care to lose it in such an impulsive gesture as an attempt to impress Craig.

Craig snorts and begins slinking closer to Tweek, until they're right next to each other. He pulls the blonde boy into his lap, leaning over and whispering against his ear. I can't hear the words, and, judging by the petrified expression on Tweek's face, I'm not sure I want to. What I _am _entirely sure of is that, though it didn't come near doing so before, their intimacy is spiking something thorny in my stomach, something that lashes out and cuts twinging sores into my mood. Jesus. Jealousy. I'm jealous, I'm _jealous _of Tweek Tweak, and...

Right. No. Focus. _Think. _

If Bebe really did call the police, then I should probably aim to try and have Tweek prepared to get out the door, window, something. But I'd need to incapacitate Craig somehow, or at least get him out of the room... how the hell can I manage that? My brain is utterly muddled by the double-fuck, and a stabbing headache emerges when I begin to consider means of escape. God... the effects of Craig are wearing off, and I honestly just want to be back home in the stained mess of sheets that I call my bed.

But I can't, I have to focus, I have to think about someone other than myself tonight, as irritatingly difficult as that's proving to be.

Just then, Tweek lashes off, skittering off Craig's lap and landing on the floor in a small, huddled heap. He crawls rapidly to where my phone landed, and moments later, it's in his hand, and he's pressing himself against the wall, hunched over, his eyes dark and haunted below the greasy shadows of his messy bangs.

"Oh... _hell _no," Craig breathes, and somehow the quietness of his voice makes it all the more terrifying. So light, and yet so utterly deadly. Those three syllables, carefully accentuated, hold a promise, and Craig Tucker isn't one to hold back on his promises. You can tell just by looking at him— grudges from this boy won't be abandoned.

In slow, flowing movements, he's calmly pulling on his boxers, his pants, in an eerily methodical way. Tweek, now that he has the phone, doesn't seem to be doing anything; on the contrary, he's shaking harder and harder as his boyfriend approaches, hands now tucked casually in his jean pockets.

It suddenly strikes me that I should do the same, so I do, though I'm sure my movements aren't nearly as sexy and catlike as Craig's. I consider adding my parka, as well, then decide that there's no need for it. I don't want to completely seal myself off, not yet. I need to keep some hope in Craig's mind that I'm still willing to continue... things.

"What are you planning to do with that, huh?" I question, loping nearer to him but staying behind Craig, not challenging his dominance. I wish I had some sort of way to communicate to Tweek that I'm actually on his side here, but that's pretty much impossible, considering that Craig seems to be acutely aware of every tiny gesture that either of us make. I just have to hope that he hasn't already noticed that I'm hiding something.

"C-call," Tweek whispers, the words scratching in his throat. He immediately looks away, abashed, as though the word is a horrible crime. His fingers, however, don't loosen their grip on my phone— in fact, their clutch is so tight that his knuckles are deathly pale. In his own way, he's still holding on, still clutching to the tiny, daring lifeline of freedom that's all he has left.

Or... all he thinks he has. Because I'm still here, dammit, and I don't plan on leaving anytime soon— at least, not without him in tow.

"Call _who?_" Craig questions silkily. He kneels down fluidly, keeping his eyes perfectly fixated on Tweek.

"C-call... help..."

"The police?" I scoff, attempting to act as though I haven't pretty much just done the exact same thing myself. At least, I hope so. If Bebe didn't take me seriously... I am going to fucking _kill _her. But I can't consider that possible reality, not right now. Because if it does happen, then both Tweek and I are utterly and completely fucked. Probably in the literal sense. Well, he is for sure; I'm more likely to be punched a few times and then cast out into the dark streets. Rejection. Something I'm entirely used to and yet would still somehow be injured by if it came from there two. Well... okay, I'll admit it: if it came from Craig.

"Yes," he chokes. I notice that he's been sliding up along the wall, so that he's now in a shaky standing position. That coupled with the green fire in his eyes probably should warn me about what's going to happen before it does, but apparently I'm slow tonight, because he's hardly screamed "You _bitches!_" before my whole face is stinging like fucking hell, and it takes me a few moments to realize that it came from him.

I yelp and stumble backwards multiple steps, ungainly losing my balance and tripping onto the floor. My hands fly to my face, cradling my burning jaw, and when I pull one away, I note with a tight wince that it's stained bright red. There isn't quite enough blood for it to be dripping, but nonetheless, the flow seems pretty heavy, and my mouth is full of slippery copper. Grimacing, I glare through my bangs at the little bitch, trying desperately to remind myself that I'm on his side, that I have to resist pummeling his sorry ass back as hard as I can, for both of our sakes.

Craig's knee connects with Tweek's stomach, and the blonde falls back with a sharp cry, my phone flying from his hand. "You okay, dude?" he asks of me, scooping up the device and sending a casual glance in my direction.

I nod, thickly muttering "Yeah, s'nothing" through my sleeve. Fuck, that hurts. My nose is throbbing a bit numbly, but I tweak at it and decide that it's not broken, just stinging. Considering the fact that I thought Tweek weak, he seems to have a remarkable amount of power behind his punch. I scowl at him even more deeply, but he's distracted by Craig, who's now stretching his shoulders in a rather menacing fashion, his fingers running along the edges of the phone. Suddenly, it strikes me that he could very easily see the texts I just sent—the ones exposing my true intentions—and I unwillingly twitch in his direction, my heart leaping to my throat. It's a guilty fear that consumes me now, the type that I used to get when a teacher caught me in trouble, before I grew to realize that their anger didn't matter.

"What's the plan for the rest of the night?" I interrupt the silence with this rushed question, trying to sound offhand and coming off as desperate and rather squeaky. Craig doesn't look suspicious when he looks up, though, just confused. I wonder if I'm blushing, and drag my sleeve over my face again, effectively smearing the blood that's still leaking from my mouth and hoping that it'll cover anything up. My head is getting a bit light, but I stay physically steady. I can't be weak, not now.

"Well, it depends," Craig drawls. "I suppose we'll continue our… fun… in whatever way strikes us."

"…What are you going to do with me?" Tweek whispers. The passionate fire has died down from his expression, leaving him looking horribly cold and shaky again.

"It depends," I purr back, letting my mouth switch to autopilot, "depends on how good of a little girl you are."

"I… I'll do whatever you want," he half-pleads. Definitely stopped his sad attempt at courage. "I'll be a good… a good g-girl…" He _does _look like a girl right now—or he would if I couldn't see his skinny dick right in front of me. But his face is so delicate, almost feminine, so… _pure _despite everything that he's been through just tonight… it's an oddly pretty thing to look at, that half-destroyed innocence. How he still manages to cling to it, I have no idea, but the effect is almost calming—though, at the same time, it wrenches like a fucking bulldozer at my heartstrings.

"Yeah," Craig agrees. He glances towards Tweek. "Will you?"

"Yes… yes, I will…"

"A good girl," Craig murmurs to himself slowly. His hand with the phone is slowly growing slack, and his eyes a bit distant. Then, like a lightning bolt, a smile forms on his face, a cold, chilling wolf's grin. "Then give me just a moment, I think we'd better… perfect this…" He suddenly tosses me my cell, and my hands flash up to catch it in a surprising display of reflexes. No comment comes from him, though, because he's already half-out the door. "Be right back," he tosses over his shoulder, and there's a laugh in his voice, a hard, bitter laugh that makes me wonder just how long it's been since he's really, genuinely been _happy. _

It's better than I could have expected, and for an instant, the chance is so perfect that I almost don't go for it, instead standing there paralyzed, feeling the itch of slowly-drying blood crusting along the bottom half of my face. Then I whip around to face Tweek more completely, words pouring out of my mouth.

"Tweek, do you trust me?" He doesn't reply within half a second, and I bend down, gripping his shoulder, hissing the words into his pale face. "_Do you trust me?_"

"…Y-yes," he whispers.

It's a lie; I can tell. He's so scared of me that he'll say anything I want him to. That doesn't matter, though. He's about to learn better. Taking a deep breath, I rise again, running to the nearest window and shoving it open. I try not to shy away as icy, late-autumn air fills the formerly warm room, instead breathing it in deeply, letting it arouse my very last reserves of energy. The sidewalk is a damn long way down, but I can make it. I have to make it. For Tweek's sake, not to mention mine. And I have to do it _fast, _too, unless I want Craig to catch us in the middle of it.

"What are you doing?" Tweek whimpers from his corner.

I turn to face him as the breeze slices through my hair, trapping it against my bloody face and tangling it in my bright cerulean eyes. Standing like that, with my arm braced against the window and the night welcoming me outside, with the shaking victim of a violent assault cowering feet away sans clothing and my own chest entirely bare—for a moment, I feel like a superhero again, like a fucking superhero coming to save the day.

Well, it's definitely too late to _save _the day. But at least I can try to drag it out of the very deepest shit.

"I'm rescuing you."


	4. FOUR

**A/N** _Slightly shorter chapter here. This story manages to be my least-reviewed, least-favorited, and least-alerted all at once, so if anyone could let me know that there are readers out there at all, preferably in the way of a review, it would be greatly appreciated. Just a few moments of your time would make my week, really. I hate to bed, but... please?_

**Thanks to** _no reviewers last chapter__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**FOUR**

"Don't throw me out!" is his first reaction, and he scrambles a bit farther back against the wall, as if that's going to save him somehow. Not that there's anything for him to be saved from, though, if we can move as fast as I hope.

"Give me a break," I snort, hopping onto the sill and swinging my legs out. The splintery wood digs into my palms, but I grit my teeth against it, trying instead to focus on the two-story drop I'm facing. It'll definitely hurt a bit, but if I can aim for the flowerbeds, I should be able to make it without any serious injury. Another, harsher draft of cold, dark air presses on me, and I teeter slightly, adrenaline rushing through me as I lose my balance for half a second before stabilizing again. Right, I just have to jump. Now or never. I can't see any police cars, but even if Bebe didn't send anything after all, I should still be able to make it—Tweek and I would probably be best off aiming to hide instead of run, though. We might be able to make it to a sympathetic other's house, but best I know, everyone else's parents are home, and we probably aren't in the best condition in which to trudge into an adult-occupied house.

"I'm naked, I'm cold, and I _don't want to jump,_" he insists, and I roll my eyes at nothing, carefully turning around, then lowering myself down until I'm just clinging on by my sweaty fingertips. My feet fumble and manage to position themselves on the next windowsill down. Slowly, carefully, I turn around, so that my back is to the wall of the house, the shingles cutting into my spine. There, now there's only half the distance of before. _Come on, Ken, just do it. _Gritting my teeth, I release my grip and step forward into the nothingness. For a half-second, everything's whooshing by at a chilling speed and my stomach is spinning all over the place, and then I hit the soil of Tweek's parents' tiny garden with a bone-wracking thud. Fuck. I pick myself up, shake out my arms, shove my hair out of my eyes, and glare up at the window.

"Get my parka, if you need covering so badly!" I half-whisper, half-yell. "And just jump, damn it! I'll catch you!" My arms fling out as I say this, and a shiver passes through me from the icy night, but I don't pay attention to it. I'm watching as Tweek's thin, wavering silhouette appears in the window, resisting the urge to scream at him to hurry the fuck up. Instead, I simply repeat, "Jump. I'll catch you. Trust me!" I add desperately when he still seems uncertain. "_Quickly, _idiot! Craig'll be back soon!"

"O-okay…" I can barely hear his voice, but he's finally climbing out, just as I hear the bang that means Craig must have reentered the room. _Shit. _A new rush of fevered energy floods my body, and my mind races as Tweek yelps and hurries to hop out. He coasts through the air for a moment before I catch him, my arms buckling under the weight but still effectively breaking his fall. I stand him up quickly, noting with fleeting satisfaction that he does indeed have my parka bunched around him, its soft folds managing to shine bright orange even in the smothering darkness. Fuck, that won't be good for trying to evade Craig.

"Hey, now he can really—Kenny?" Craig's deep voice comes from the open window, and my body officially goes into _fuckfuckfuck _mode. I grip Tweek by the shoulders and hiss at him furiously.

"_Can you run?_"

"N-no… my body is sore, you _retard, _I've been raped at least ten times in the past w-week," he spits back, looking rather like a harried kitten despite the ferocity of his words. It's true enough, and I can't argue with him if he really is physically capable. It looks like, despite my own exhaustion, I get to be stuck with carrying him.

"Tweek? The fuck…"

Shit, Craig. _Fuck this, fuck all of it. _I swing Tweek onto my shoulder, ignoring his squeak, and proceed to begin darting down the block without hesitation. Thank God for adrenaline—even with the extra boost, I'm struggling with the feat of carrying him like this, and I know it won't last for long. How long will it take Craig to get downstairs and out the door? Unless he's just going to jump out the window like we did, which, I have to admit, is more likely. _Fuck. _How far away is Bebe's house? My brain isn't working right now. Why couldn't she have just called the damn police? As much as I hate the cops—and I've probably done enough over the years for them to easily lock me up, too—I can't deny that they would be a hell of a lot of assistance in this situation.

Craig's yell rips through the air behind me, sounding ominously close. I don't dare to look back long enough to try and catch a glimpse of him, though. "I can see you two!" he shouts. I desperately hope that it's just my imagination and that I can't actually hear his bare feet hammering on the ground, approaching, drawing closer… he's fitter than I am, much fitter, and considering that I have Tweek—I don't even want to think about how easily he'll be able to catch up with us. Carrying this in mind, my eyes catch on a trash can that we're approaching. I hook it with my free hand and shove, sending it sprawling across the sidewalk with a massive _clang. _I hear a shuffle, a thud, and a growl of pain, and grit my teeth in grim satisfaction, trying to ignore the hot breaths knifing my lungs and throat. Got him.

"You didn't grab my phone, did you?" I ask frantically, rounding a corner on impulse. I need to text Bebe, need to tell her that we're on the run and need fucking help.

"Got it right here," he pants back, his lips brushing against my ear.

_Thank God. _"Okay, take it, and send a text to Bebe Stevens. Tell her that we're on the run down Craig's street, and that we need her help, _now._"

"B-bebe?"

"Just _do _it, you idiot!"

"R-right, sorry." I can feel him fumbling for a moment. My legs are burning like they're fucking enveloped by flame, but I pay them no attention, just keep running, even though Craig must be on his feet by now, even though he's surely yards away from us…

Tweek's scream reaches my ears just a second before I feel him being pulled off me. I want as bad as anything to keep running, but I force myself to skid to a halt, pivoting around and scraping my feet on the pavement, scowling furiously before I even have a target to direct the expression at. In a flash, Craig has Tweek held to his chest, his muscular arm pinning the smaller boy's skinny neck against him. Tweek's arms flail wildly, his eyes large and pleading, but there's nothing he can do, and nothing _I _can do, either. It's over. He's caught us. There's no way I can get Tweek out of this now, and our best chance is probably to run, but I can't make my legs move. When moments before all I wanted to do was move, I now feel rooted to the ground, and doubt I could flee if I tried.

"Craig…" I begin slowly, wondering if I could possibly make him see reason, somehow _negotiate _him out of this insanity.

"What? What do you want?" His voice is deeper than before, a loud, rough growl, and his dark eyes are aflame with fevered fury. It's… scary. All of his composure has vanished, and now he seems almost… almost weaker somehow. His stance isn't just intimidating, it's also defensive. He's hiding himself in there somewhere, projecting an air of monstrous intensity, and, for the first real time, I wonder if he's entirely sane.

"Him," I say clearly, trying to stop my voice from shaking with anxiety. Tweek's face is darkening, and I can't help but think that Craig's perhaps pressing down on his windpipe a bit harder than he means to. I don't dare to point it out, though. "I need him."

"Why?"

_Why? _

I don't _know _why, that's the problem. Because I'm stupid Mysterion? Because I can't fucking bear to watch the poor guy be tortured anymore? Because I need some importance in the world?

Because I care about him?

I don't want to freak Craig out by saying something like that, though. It might sound like I'm trying to say that I _care _care about Tweek, and I don't, not like that. The last thing I need is for him to think that I'm trying to steal his boyfriend from him—though, honestly, he's made such a mess of the guy that I have to wonder if it would even matter to him at this point. I can't risk something like that, though. I have to play it safe.

So I go with a card that couldn't possibly imply anything of that sort.

"Because I'm being paid."

A _complete _lie, of course, but if he believes it, then it works. After all, they know me as Kenny the Poor; as best as they're aware, I'll do anything for money. And… well, I will. It's as perfect a false motivation as anything, and I can tell by Craig's intensified glare that he believes me.

"You used me," he snarls, his tone harsh. It's a completely ridiculous statement, a _false _one, and from him—the fucking rapist—it's practically laughable. So why does it hurt, why does it strike right down to my fucking heart? His words creep back to me, those whispered across Tweek's floor, raw and passion-charged—_Kenny, I think I might be in love with you. _

None of that shows in his ice-cold eyes now.

"Stay on his side…" Tweek rasps. "Please, I… I don't want you to get hurt. I can live with the abuse, I have been for… a long time…"

His words do the opposite to me that he intended them to. Suddenly, my resolve is even harder than before, and I realize that I'm _angry _at Craig for accusing me of something I didn't do. My face is growing hot, and my hands curling into unwilling fists at my sides. "I didn't… I didn't _use _you, okay?" I don't mean to be yelling, but somehow my voice is rising, carrying down the dark street, and I can only hope that the nearby houses are empty. Of course, this is South Park. The residents are all too used to this kind of thing. "I never came _near _using you! You've been forcibly fucking Tweek for God knows how long, and you thought to include me in on the fun tonight! I had nothing to do with it—apparently I was just the person to turn to, the fucking _man whore _of this city! Seriously, look at Tweek. _Look _at him, and then tell me who's been _using _people! Because there's nothing real between you two, I'm afraid that tonight has made _that _painfully obvious!"

"Let's not bring this back to him, okay?"

"But he's what it's all about," I go on insistently, not willing to give up. "I mean… why? Why do all this to _him? _How did… what did he ever do to deserve this?"

"You wouldn't get it… you really wouldn't." He lets Tweek drop to the ground, suddenly, where the blonde takes a deep, shaking breath and stays, huddled up and shivering fearfully.

I take a step closer, my bare foot brushing against Tweek's flung-out arm, staring hard at Craig. "Try me."

"Alright, then, if you're so determined," he sneers. "The reason why—" Then his breath seems to catch up, and his eyes un-focus slightly, becoming more sharp and more vague at the same time, staring directly at me, through my pupils, into my core. Something twitches in my stomach, dissolving my anger, and I suddenly feel like there's something inside of Craig, something struggling to get out, fighting to no result. "The reason why is that I don't know, myself."

I frown, my eyebrows drawing together and mouth turning down slightly, a mask of unhappiness to disguise the actually rather gentle feeling sprouting inside of me. I feel… pity. Pity for Craig Tucker, and it's absolutely ridiculous, since he's easily the last person in the world right now who needs my sympathy.

"Well, then," I murmur darkly, unwilling to expose this sudden new weakness. "Shouldn't play without knowing the rules, now, should you?"

A sharp sting arches across my thigh, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's Tweek, furiously slapping me from his spot on the ground. I glare down, trying to disguise my utter confusion. "What the fuck—I rescue you, and now I get this bullshit?" As if contact with its inflictor has reminded it of its own presence, the spot where he punched me earlier begins to throb again, and waves of frustration slowly begin to run through me. I feel… dirty, and have the sudden urge to shake like a dog, to just expel everything this night has cursed me with. But I hold still, because I'm next to Craig the ice man, and, for reasons I still can't put a name to, there's still something inside me that wants to impress him. "I can't—" I begin, then hesitate, backtrack, bite the words right out of the air and pin them to my lips with the edge of my teeth, instead communicating all of my emotions to the two others with only the furious fire of my eyes.

"I don't… know… I don't know anymore," Tweek chokes, staring at his hand as though it's a horrid, foreign thing that has somehow managed to attach itself to his body. He curls around the shaking limb, mouthing apologies, an utter wreck with dried fluids of quite an array crusting his crumpled face. He can't go on much longer—he just can't. Sooner or later, he's going to collapse, or start screaming, or simply become an unresponsive huddle of dark-eyed misery—in fact, it's quite something that he hasn't been reduced to one of them already. I'm still on his side, here, I remind myself, and I have to pull through, I have to save both of us.

"I doubt any of us know anymore," I point out quietly, the words oddly isolated in the suddenly silent night. And, for an instant, that's true—none of us know anything, not even Craig. We're just standing here in the empty street as the clock ticks faster and faster towards midnight, lost with nothing—and no one—to grab onto. Three tortured minds, incapable of seeking solace in one another, so close and yet so, so far apart.

"Craig…" Tweek finally murmurs, and I'm relieved to hear that his voice seems to consist of slightly more than a dried-out croak now. "C-can I have a moment alone with him?"

The question surprises me as soon as I realize that I'm the subject of it, but not nearly as much as the response—unbelievably, Craig shrugs almost amiably, replying "fine" in what could practically be called a civil tone. Then he retreats a few yards, until I can barely see him against the darkness. It crosses my mind that perhaps I should take this chance and run when I see a smooth gleam of black metal slipping out from God knows where. He must have concealed the pistol in his pants somehow. "Anyone tries to run, and I shoot, okay?" His tone is still gentle, but I can't conceal the expression or horror that sours my face.

"Holy fuck, he—"

"Shh, I know." Tweek doesn't seem even somewhat perturbed. He just looks… tired. Really and thoroughly exhausted, almost like a mother with too hyper of kids. Though he's younger than me by several months, I suddenly feel like the immature one.

I think Craig nods in satisfaction—certainly his figure bobs slightly, then he moves farther away until I can't see him at all. I know he's there, though—there and probably with that gun aimed straight at me. Because I'm the one he'd shoot first, of course. Tweek's life would definitely come before mine on his list of priorities.

"…Okay." His words start slow, measured, like he's giving a lecture for school or casually explaining the rules of some game—which, in a way, he is. "I keep switching sides because I can't figure out whether or not I still love him."

I express my exasperated disbelief through a heavy sigh. "Dude… look… he's _desecrated _you. Why the _fuck _should you love him?" It seems just ridiculous, at this point—how could… how could anyone love such an absolute _asshole, _a rapist, a criminal and a liar and a…

How could _anyone…_

"I-I just don't know… I loved him so much… through it a-all… I just want the _old _Craig Tucker back," he insists through yet more tears. Damn, does he ever run out? "I love him… I r-really do…"

"Why is he like this?" I demand, unwilling to back down even though he's trembling like hell. This might be my only chance to get answers, when he's vulnerable like this.

"So many reasons… I… can't tell…" His eyes flicker briefly left and right before meeting mine. "I will, though, if you promise not to let him know…"

"Yeah, 'course," I agree quickly.

"Well… when he was nine… he was raped." Eyes squeeze shut, throat moves in a convulsive swallow, shaking hands knot and squeeze together. "He didn't tell his parents anything… he liked them the way they were, and knew that if he told them, they would change… never look at him the same way again."

I pay perfect attention, my focus not wavering in the slightest.

"He skipped a full year of school… you remember that."

I allow myself a nod.

"He was afraid of everyone. So he began acting out, acting like the big, tough one. You really had to be careful around him… I felt horrible, so I became friends with him. In sixth grade… when he turned twelve, remember? That party in the cafeteria? We reached a goal for some fundraiser, so the school threw a party…"

"Yeah." I do remember. Remember how I couldn't afford to put a fucking penny in, that is, and how Eric Cartman teased the shit out of me for it, though his own selfishness stopped him from contributing a cent, himself. It was a low point of the year for me, and since school is pretty much the shittiest part of my life, that's saying a hell of a lot.

"Well… at one point, I went up to the punch bowl, got some, he snuck up behind me and scared the shit out of me. I spilled… he took me to the bathroom to help clean it off." Tweek's face seems to light up for a second at the innocent recollection, and for a second, I can practically see it myself—him jumping and the falsely red fruit punch toppling onto one of his unevenly buttoned shirts, Craig's face closing over as he reached out for his best friend's arm—the closest he could get to apologetic—the two of them retreating to the quiet chill of the restroom, the lonely sound of a tap running, the gentle pressure of a wet paper towel on Tweek's sticky skin.

"We sat next to the sink on the floor, and he… he leaned in and k-kissed me. In sixth grade. Kind of young, I know… then his face turned red. He yelled at me, told me that nothing happened, that it meant nothing. To me…" His voice cracks, and the next words are more of a whimper than anything else. "To me, it meant the world."

My stomach turns, and I suddenly want to comfort him, but my feet won't move. They're rooted to the sidewalk, and my whole body is strangely stiff, as though I've been standing here for a thousand years.

"I sat there smiling… he left, almost crying. Later, at that party, everyone was making fun of Butters… calling him 'fag,' all of that. Craig was one of them. So, I decided to speak up, if you will. I said, 'What's wrong with being gay? You're the one who…' He punched me in the nose."

It comes back to me, suddenly—the memory of when this happened. I was in between Stan and Kyle, on the other side of the room, when it suddenly went silent save Craig's twisted yells. His voice deepened before the rest of us, so it was scary, really, how inhumanly furious he sounded.

"He pinned me against the wall, and screamed in my face that it meant nothing."

And I can hear it, in my ears as though it happened seconds and not years ago… _It meant nothing! Nothing!_

"Over and over until everyone was staring. Then he ran crying out of the building, and I was left there… h-heartbroken, with a bloody nose. But I'd wanted to say that… I love him." He takes a rattling breath. "Ever since then, he's been bullying me as a sign of dominance. He does it so people assume he doesn't like me… but then people found out. And he was made fun of to the point where he wouldn't come out of his room. When I went to his house, I'd have to slip a note under his door just to talk to him… it wasn't so bad for me, because I was already a freak at school. No one likes me, really… whatever. But for him… he was always the hot badass that girls swooned over, even though he just flipped them off. But finally, he ignored them, blocked them all out, went on to high school. He would cry at night, on the phone."

That's clear in my mind, too—when he first started coming to school again. He'd built up his defenses completely at that point—I thought no one could reach him. Tall, muscular, dark and angry and silent. Blazing with so much energy, and yet _contained _somehow… he was scary, if I'm going to be completely honest with myself. And I wasn't the only one who thought so. People began to avoid him in the halls, dodge aside whenever he came near, unwilling to risk even brushing past him. He was untouchable, impenetrable. He was… well, he was Craig Tucker.

I never imagined that he'd been like that out of _pain, _that he still expressed that pain at times…

"Finally, he started coming to my house after school every day, because his parents didn't understand. He was so sad… I… _I _made the mistake here. _I _am the one to blame. And _I _am the one who saw his sad face, and who said that he could do anything to me if it made him feel better. Anything…" He uncoils slowly, and my eyes are drawn to the months' worth of bruises poisoning every inch of his body, the cuts, the scrapes and scratches. "Anything at all."

"You… no." I shake my head, slowly. "It's not your… Tweek…"

"He was—he had nothing to do with this. I don't enjoy it… but it's worth it. I don't want him… to try and kill himself. He already has… many times… but never succeeded, luckily… it wasn't his fault!"

"He had everything to do with it, though!" I'm not sure why I'm so determined not to accept this. After all, wouldn't it be better, easier, if I could just go with the fact that Tweek prefers this to the alternative? I could apologize to Craig, say that it's none of my business—which it isn't, it really isn't—then leave, go home, go to fucking bed even though it can't be past midnight… sleep… sleeping sounds so nice right now, so nice.

But I can't let myself. I'm not willing to give this up, not yet, because as hard as I try to see it from their viewpoints, I can't accept that this isn't wrong on every possible level. I have to stop this. I have to save them, from themselves and from each other.

"He had everything to do with it, though," I insist, the words weak even to my own ears. "He could have… chosen not to…"

_Chosen not to hurt you… _

"It's what I said!" the diminutive blonde cries. "You have to believe me—I took him, I took his hand and _told _him to, I told him to hurt me, I told him to do whatever the hell he needed to do, anything to make him feel better…"

_And you shouldn't have, you idiot. That was where you went wrong. That was when you took this turn, this turn that somehow ended up with the three of us, here, now, him with a gun and your body completely destroyed, and me… _hell, I don't even know how I feel anymore. Just overwhelmed, really. Utterly and completely overwhelmed.

"I told him to," Tweek repeats, his voice oddly solemn. "I told him to, and he leaned in, and he kissed me, so—so gently… it was the last time he was _ever _gentle with me… he pulled back… crying… and _I _pulled him close again. I wanted to kiss him, me, but it… got out of hand."

I snort, covering up my disgust with sarcastic humor.

"That's all I can tell you," he sighs, and his little form seems to fold in on itself, relax somehow, like he's preparing himself for anything—anything and everything. It's my turn now. I take a slow breath, open my mouth—

But the words that come out aren't in my voice at all. I whirl around just in time to see the speaker, a medium-sized man in an all-too-recognizable uniform, pulling a heavy-duty gun out of the holster at his hip.

"Party's over, kids," the policeman chuckles.


	5. FIVE

**A/N** _Nothing much to say, but I really appreciated the reviews, please keep it up!_

**Thanks to** _SparklesMakeMeHappy and kakeda_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**FIVE**

"Who the fuck are you?" I exclaim without thinking. I can't deny that I feel as though the presence of this rather overweight, mustached man—complete with sunglasses even though it's dark as shit outside—has rather ruined the tension that Tweek and I worked ourselves into. It takes me a second to realize that this is probably Bebe's policeman—it would seem she wasn't so useless after all, just ridiculously late. And now… now, suddenly, I don't want the adults to take over. There's something inside me stirred by the night wind and the black sky, a feeling like I used to get back when I was just a midget, a sort of… longing for adventure. Yes, it sounds gay. But I want that, want to be able to escape into the big, bad world.

Fuck South Park. I'm done with this shit-ass city. Done.

"Come here," the officer sneers in a disgustingly slimy voice, like fat greased in oil. "Two half-clothed high school boys out at midnight… you're not getting away."

"Shut the fuck up," I hiss, my fur rubbed the wrong way. Who the hell does this fatass think he is?

Then I see the glint of handcuffs.

"Fuck," I exhale lowly, then begin backing up as quickly as I can as he advances. "Tweek, _run!_" Even as I say it, though, I know he can't, know that Craig and I destroyed him too thoroughly for that. Wait… _Craig! _He's watching us, watching right now. Maybe—just _maybe _he'll help us… he wouldn't want Tweek to be taken into the station, there's still hope…

"Listen," Tweek begins in a high, quavering voice. "We've done nothing wrong. We'll go home… please! We have… important stuff… we've done _nothing!_" he repeats insistently.

"Those bruises didn't come from nothing," the policeman observes lazily.

He reflexively pulls my parka tighter over his skinny chest, but the damage has been done. "I… I box," he lies weakly. "I know I don't look it, but… Stan Marsh's uncle Jimbo, Jimbo Kern taught me… K-Kenny, you were there when I was at that match in school…"

"Yes! I was!" I wonder if it's possible that he'll actually be able to persuade this officer to let us go. Of course, I've probably screwed us anyways, being rude and all that shit—still, I'd bet that this guy has a single-digit IQ. If we're careful, we can make it.

"Nice try," he scoffs, then begins approach me. "Here, shirtless… you can come first… since you're so _impolite._" I recoil as spit flies from his mouth from under that hairy mustache, catching the glint of the moonlight and speckling the pavement.

To my surprise and near-shock, Tweek steps forward suddenly, a crack ringing through the air as he slaps the policeman cleanly across the face. I stumble backwards as the officer lets out a shout, and, without any pretense whatsoever, Tweek ducks to the ground, rolling completely out of the way and wincing as the pavement disturbs his injuries. I'm puzzled for a second, then it clicks—just as the unmistakable sound of a gunshot shatters the relative silence and the policeman instantaneously crumples to the ground.

"_Run!_" Craig bellows.

I don't question this sudden heroism, nor do I stop to wonder just how badly he shot the officer. I could hardly care less if he survives, at this point—my adrenaline reserves, it seems, haven't quite run out yet. And yet something's rooting me here, rooting me to the ground—and as much as I want to deny it, I think that it's the dark figure standing several yards away who just saved us, his gun arm still raised and steady.

"Come on!" Tweek chokes.

"But… what about him?" It's as if someone else is speaking through my mouth. I can't tear my eyes away any more than I can make my feet move.

"He'll be fine, now come _on! _The police guy's not dead, we're not safe yet!"

I force myself to move, turning, gripping Tweek's arm and dragging him behind me, sprinting along the sidewalk, my lungs knifing furiously along the inside of my chest. I don't know how long we stumble along for, but, finally, my burning legs can't stand it any longer, and it's like they just disappear from under me, leaving me to collapse to the ground, wheezing, pressing my forehead gratefully to the icy cement. I've lost all sense of direction—we could be anywhere now, but I'm sure it's far from the Tweaks' house. I hear Tweek drop down next to me, and close my eyes tightly, trying to stabilize myself in the center of our wildly spinning surroundings. Slowly, things tilt back into position, and I realize that I'm sprawled on my back, panting. The stars above me seem oddly bright, but that absurdity is nothing compared to what's inside of me.

It's a warmth, a sickening warmth that turns my stomach all the wrong ways, that inexplicably makes my pulse increase, and I hate it. The worst part is that I know exactly what's causing it—it's _him. _Not the stick that I've brought along to God knows where, but the other, the one we left behind, the one who _saved _us with no provocation whatsoever, nearly killing a man to get it done.

Why?

Why would he _do _that?

"K-Kenny?" Tweek rasps. I ignore him. He isn't worth my attention… I'm consumed by this hateful new emotion. I want it to go away, want to rip it out of my chest and grind it into the dirt with my bare heel. But I can't—it's a part of me. A disgusting, unwanted growth that I desperately wish I could tear away.

"Did you…" He begins again, slowly. "What are you… why are you so… speechless?"

"I dunno," I find myself mumbling. "Doesn't matter. Just…"

"Yes, it does," he challenges, and I look over at him wearily, to see that his eyes are surprisingly bright, in an odd sort of way. "Tell me. I told you, now you tell me."

"I don't fucking _know _what's going on!" I'm not sure where my lungs get the energy to yell, but then the words are out of my mouth, and the silence that follows them suddenly seems several times deeper than before. It doesn't last for long, though, because stupid Tweek is blabbering again, going on in his whiny way.

"What do you mean, you don't know what's going on? I just explained why he's acting out…"

"I don't know what's going on with _me, _you _idiot!_" I hate to say it, too. Hate to reveal any type of weakness that could be used against me—and this will, most definitely. Insecurity is never regarded in an innocent manner. It's the best I can do to snap at him, to try and scare him off, stop him from prying any closer. It strikes me suddenly that he might even try to _help, _and the very prospect is so revolting that I immediately block it from my mind. The last thing I need is Tweek Tweak trying to help me with my newfound… _feelings—_God, I hate that word—for Craig Tucker. Hell, he might even be jealous. No, he _would _be jealous. There's no question of it.

"Why? What…? Tell me, tell me now!" He's insisting with surprising venom, and I realize that he knows exactly what's going on, just doesn't want to admit it to himself. Well, too fucking bad. Because it's happening, and I won't be able to deny it to him any more than I can to myself. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did this happen? Why the hell did this have to happen? It's one matter to screw a guy, another to get involved with him and his boyfriend's relationship, but this—this is the worst. Falling for him. _Falling for him, _and doing it in the middle of all this shit—damn, I want to shoot myself. And I could. That would at least bring me to tomorrow morning… still, I can't leave Tweek. And as much as I fucking hate the kid at the moment, it would be impossible for me to do that.

Impossible.

"Come on," he prompts. "Before Craig finds us…"

"I _don't know,_" I hiss in one final effort. "I just… I just don't get it. I feel weird, that's all."

"What don't you get?"

"Why I feel weird," I growl. How slow _is _this guy? "I don't get why I feel weird. It doesn't make sense. I shouldn't have… but no, I've done plenty of people in one night before…" I'm struggling to accept the truth. The truth being, of course, that I think I'm in love with Craig Tucker.

"This about sex?" Tweek questions warily, seemingly working off my half-muttered words.  
"Seriously… _that's _why you feel weird?"

_If only, _I think grimly. _If only it was about shit as simple as that… _and it sounds so stupid, so stereotypical and overdramatic, even in my mind. Fuck this, fuck it all. I just want it to be over, and if the gun wasn't back with Craig, I have a nagging feeling that I wouldn't stick around long enough to regret blasting myself in the head. Even if I wasn't going to come back—hell, _especially _if I wasn't going to come back.

"No," I'm saying, not even sure what I'm replying to. "I thought maybe, but… no, that's not it…"

"Then _what?_"

That's it. I'm shouting, not caring that the words practically tear my throat apart it, because they're worth it just for the shocked expression on his stupid little face. "I don't _fucking _know! How many goddamn times to I have to tell you before you'll motherfucking believe me? I don't know what the hell's going on, asking isn't going to get you anywhere because I have no idea, myself. _I. Don't. Know._"

"You know, you just don't want to say it…" Then his face closes off, becomes blank and rather pale in the moonlight, the dark shadows below his eyes standing out more than ever. "You bastard," he whispers, and I know that he's stopped searching for other possibilities.

"What…" I begin, then sigh, a low, resigned noise that whooshes through my nose, which is still throbbing from when he punched me. "Alright, then. Tell me. If you know… tell me."

"You can't," he insists. "Not—not Craig! He's mine, he's _always _been mine! I've been there for him, always, since… since we were little… _always! _Not you, you were just the stupid fucking parka kid in the corner, smoking or whatever—I was there! _I _always went after him, I always… I did everything for him! Not you! He barely knew you _existed! _He wouldn't've called you tonight if you weren't a fucking man whore—there's nothing special about it! And what he said to you—he's said that he loved me _tons _of times, more than that, you… you don't even…" He chokes on his own words, ducking away and shaking with what's either misery, exhaustion, or fury. Probably all three.

"No," I breathe.

"You—you _bitch, _you're in love with Craig Tucker," he spits.

"I'm _not!_" I scream, but it's a lie, I know it's a lie and so does he—it reflects in his hating, blameful green eyes. "I'm not, I'm nowhere near that… why would you even say that?"

"Stop denying it!" he screeches.

"I'm not denying it, it's the truth! I fucking—I fucking hate him and I always will!"

I _want _that to be true. I want it to be with the very fucking blood in my veins, the marrow in my bones, but I can't control myself. As absolutely stupid as it sounds, I can't control my heart. Tweek is absolutely right.

And I hate him for that.

But not nearly as much as I hate myself.

"It's not true, I've never liked him—not like that, I don't like guys like that, hell, I don't like _anyone _like that! So he's hot, okay, not a single fucking human on this planet could deny that. But he's also a selfish _asshole _who rapes people for fun and apparently carries guns with him wherever the hell he goes. I don't love that. _No one _could love that, not even you!" There are tears in my eyes—angry tears—Jesus, I don't know how long it's been since I've cried, and I don't want to break that streak now. So I bite into my bottom lip, hard, ripping it open and letting the blood fill my mouth. Pain is good. It gives me something to focus on, something rough and gritty like I'm used to instead of this wavering new spectrum of emotion that I don't trust in the least.

"Have you been _listening _to a word I'm _saying?_" Tweek chokes disbelievingly.

I have, I absolutely have. But that's the last thing I need—_reason _to love the bastard—because that makes it a thousand times more real, somehow, and it's already staring me straight in the fucking face as it is. If I'm going to be a faggot with butterflies twirling around in my stomach, then I can at least resist them completely bowling me over with their delicate little wings, as they seem to want.

"Kenny—"

"I don't like—I don't _love—_I've never been _in love,_" I snarl, the words laden with sarcasm. "And I never intend to be, since it seems to turn people into such utter. Fucking. _Idiots. _I'm never going to marry, hell, I'm probably never going to _date—_what the hell's the point, anyways? People don't see me as a person, they see me as a _whore, _and that's what I am, and I'm fucking happy with it. I can screw whoever the fuck I want, without getting _attached, _without being drawn into your little traps of _contentment._" I spit the word out, revolted by its very presence. "And d'you know why? It's because I'm _smarter _than you. I'm going to _live _life, not just take the same goddamn path as everyone else, and it's starting _now, _right now, because guess what? I'm not going home. Not again. Not after tonight. I don't know where the hell I'm headed, but it sure as fuck isn't that shithole that I've been stuck in for the past seventeen motherfucking years. I'm done _caring _about people. It's about _me _now, because I'm all that matters, I'm all that ever matters. People should know that the only thing to really take care of in their lives is themselves, shouldn't they? It's _obvious. _It's always been obvious to me. So back off, Tweek Tweak, just fucking _back off._"

I only now realize that I've been yelling, practically screaming, but I don't regret it, because I finally feel like I've gotten it all out. Sweat is standing out on my arms and forehead, and my face is extremely flushed, but I feel oddly cool and calm now.

"K-Kenny…"

"No. Don't talk to me. I'm done. I'm leaving."

"If you've always been c-careless… then why… why did you save me?"

"I told you," I mutter, the lie sour on my tongue. "I'm being paid. That's the truth, you know. Money… money is good, good for when you're on the run. And once I have it… I'm out of here."

"Kenny…"

"Stop saying my name."

"I don't want you to die!" he suddenly yelps, and then he's throwing himself into my arms, the folds of my own parka soft against my bare chest, and I can feel his tears collecting on my collarbone, hot and wet.

"Wha—?" I stammer, completely taken aback by this. "Die? Why would I… why would I die?" Caught unawares, I find myself steadying him uncertainly, gripping his skinny shoulders. My fingers rove across them, and I unwillingly take note of just how little muscle there is between his skin and his bones. A twinge of pity stirs in my stomach, but I ignore it. It doesn't matter now. I've just made my position perfectly clear.

Unless, of course, death is a factor.

Not that death is that much of a challenge for me, of course, but there is the issue of transportation. Every time that I've ever been killed in my life—and there've been a _lot—_I've woken up the next morning… right at home in South Park. If I try to escape but keep getting zapped back here… well, that would be a complication.

"H-him," Tweek mumbles into my shoulder, and something about the single word unsettles me. Maybe it's the fact that I instantly know who he's speaking of, despite any name being mentioned. _Him. _

"He wouldn't _kill _me," I scoff, hoping that my offhand tone disguises the disgusted alarm spreading through my veins. "I mean… there's rape, there's drugs and shit, but killing… murder is… more than that."

"He would. I _know _him, Kenny, I know him better than you. And he's angry now… he's angry enough to kill, but you don't deserve to die, you just saved me and no one's ever looked twice in my direction, even when they knew what he'd done to me… not once…"

"But he just _saved _us," I point out stupidly.

"Because he wanted to take care of you himself. Yes, he told us to run—he's trying to trick us, but I know him too well… you have to trust me, Kenny, you—I know him better than anyone, you…" He looks up at me, and I'm momentarily captivated by just how _green _his eyes are, like pale winter pine needles somehow seasoned with lime lollipop. "Wherever you're going… for your own good, you—you have to take me with you!"

It suddenly strikes me just how close we are to each other, his arms wrapped around my back, hands joined at the base of my ribcage, whole face desperate and pleading. I can even smell his breath, and it's nice somehow… scentless, but warm.

_Take me with you. _

Why is it that suddenly that doesn't seem like too daunting a prospect?

"Well, well, _well. _What do we have here?"

His whole frame stiffens against mine with a small squeak, but I don't react to the low drawl at all in any way other than to slowly raise my eyes, over Tweek's spiky head, so that I can focus on Craig's deep, murky blue irises.

He still has the gun.

And seems to be treating it very casually, too—swinging it here and there, rubbing it along his leg as though scratching at some itch. My breath catches in my throat, but I still manage to hiss out the essential syllables.

"Why are you _doing _this?"

"Take him _with _you?" Craig repeats Tweek's words slowly, adding a macabre twist to the previously soft request. "Oh, I don't think so, McCormick. I really, really don't think that would be possible for us."

"Why are you doing this?" I repeat, internally defying him. If I can manage to talk him out of this total screwed-up insanity, then my taking Tweek probably won't be a problem at all. Maybe—just _maybe—_I'll even be able to get him to come with us, as well. I can't deny that that would make me… happy… though I'd never get a chance to—make a move—with Tweek present. Of course not. The very idea, in fact, is so stupid that it's a wonder it ever crossed my mind. Craig and I are never going to get anywhere, so _daydreaming _about it like a total pussy girl is pointless.

"So many reasons," he hisses through gritted teeth, his face dark, "_endless _reasons. I could tell you every one of them, Kenny McCormick, but chances are that you still wouldn't understand. Do you know why? It's because…" His teeth flash, alarmingly white, and his lips curve up cruelly, in a twisted mask of a smile. "It's because you are a fucking _idiot._"

Tweek moves slowly and yet with an almost eerily steady purpose. Though he's still trembling with exhaustion, it's in clean, smooth movements that he advances forward, that his shoulder pulls down and rolls around, bringing his extended hand straight into Craig's smirking face hard enough for a loud crack to ring through the silent street.

My body stiffens in mute amazement as he draws back, breathing heavily. Craig slowly raises a hand to his reddening cheek, eyes wide and almost innocent for a moment before a curtain of coldness steals over them once more.

"That all you got?" he sneers icily.

"Nnrgh—no," Tweek insists, his voice fluctuating awkwardly between steely anger and shaky uncertainty. I can tell by the indecision in his eyes that he doesn't want to do this, doesn't want to be hurting Craig. After all, as I recall now, he sees him as more vulnerable than anything else.

"Really? Then why don't you show me what you've—"

He's a blur, a skinny, blonde-haired blur, tackling Craig to the ground, kneeing him in the crotch, slapping him fiercely across the bridge of the nose. Then, out of nowhere, he's suddenly got the gun in his hand, and it's being held with amazing steadiness to Craig's temple, the cold metal knocking against his skull. A startling pang of defensiveness stabs my stomach, and I have to bite back my protests.

"What do you think you're doing?" Craig snarls.

"Yeah, what are you doing?" My voice is disgustingly high-pitched, but it's not like I can do anything about it. "Don't… hurt him…"

It's like Tweek has taken Craig's frosty cruelty for his own. There isn't a trace of hesitation in his stony face as he turns to face me, faintly outlined against the pitch-black night? "Why the hell not?" he hisses, the voice low and almost rasping. "You don't care about him anyways." He looks twisted, like a dark doppelganger of himself, and I realize that something must have happened to provoke this uncharacteristic behavior. Something, but… what?

"I care about him as much as I do… any other person," I argue halfheartedly. We both know that 'as much as any other person' isn't very much at all, just as well as we're aware that the words coming out of my mouth are lies. I care about him a lot more than an average person, as much as I despise that fact. As much as I wish that things were different.

"Then you don't really care about him. Unless it's Stan, Kyle, or Butters… you don't really seem to give a rat's ass about anyone else."

"Tweek…" I half-beg, ignoring the nagging voice at the back of my head that whispers how it's painfully obvious that I give more than a rat's ass about this very boy that I'm talking to now—its words aren't significant right now. "You're not a murderer."

"I could be."

"Why? Tweek, why would you… this is him. This is _Craig. _Why would you hurt him?"

In a sudden, convulsive movement, he drops the gun. It clatters to the sidewalk and Tweek jumps away, stumbling back from Craig and I as though we're radiating insane heat. Before I realize what I'm doing, the gun is in my own hands, and I'm fingering the trigger, running my hands along its sleek, cold length, pressing my thumb to the end.

"Give me that," Craig murmurs, his voice low and darkly sweet.

I don't listen, though, instead gazing at the weapon. It's beautiful, in a horrifying way. It would be easy, so incredibly easy to shoot it now, through my own skull, to erase this night and wake up tomorrow in perfect safety. I don't process the fact that I'm aiming to do such until I feel it pressing against my lips, a cold, gentle kiss, a kiss farewell, a kiss goodnight. My eyes coast shut, blocking everything out, preparing for a fuller blackness.

_I'm sorry, Tweek. _

"Give it to me," he hisses again, and his voice is right next to my ear, suddenly, his lips brushing against it. I freeze, blinking and letting the night enter my pupils again. Craig is standing next to me—he must have moved there in complete silence—and one of his hands is suspended over mine, our skin barely brushing together.

I whip the weapon around swiftly, so that it's suddenly aimed at him instead of me. "Don't make me," I threaten emptily, my breath misting in the air and dancing under the dim streetlights.

"I know you wouldn't."

"Dying… it's not that bad," I find myself mumbling. "If you went, I'd be right after, you realize. It wouldn't hurt either of us, we wouldn't… wouldn't even process… it'd just be over."

He strokes the nose of the gun almost fondly. I grip it tighter, but he doesn't react. "You know you wouldn't. Dying is bad, if you don't have the ability to come back."

"Maybe I don't care if you're hurt."

His eyes search mine, disbelieving, and I try another approach.

"I could… I could stop… stop living… just because my heart kept beating… wouldn't mean that I'd have to live. I could stop doing anything. Good as dead. Then we're both fucking happy."

"No, we're both _not _happy. You'd wish things had gone differently. I know you would."

I force myself to look away from his midnight-hued eyes, down at the gun that we're both gripping. "I'm not giving it back to you," I breathe.

"Yes, you are."

"I don't have any reason to."

"Yes, you do."

"And what's that?"

"You _like _me, Kenny."

Everything capsizes. My stomach is floating and my head is melting, blood spinning through my veins far too fast. "I don't!" I yell before the words could possibly have had time to reach my mouth. "I fucking _don't! _Why would I?"

"If you don't like me," he rumbles, his voice far too low and sexy to be even remotely fair, "then why are you acting like a teenage girl who just got asked to prom by the hottest boy in school?"

"I... don't... you and Tweek. You and Tweek are together. I don't care... I may like men's bodies, but I'm not... I'm not a fucking fag, not really, not really..."

"You're so awful at lying," he sneers, snorting with false laughter. "Pathetic… just hilarious…" The giggles are almost high-pitched, and rather alarming in their abundance. It's like he's actually entertained somehow.

I let go of the gun suddenly, sliding down to the pavement, staring at nothing, blank and uncaring. "Fine. Take it. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore." It's like I've completely busted my emotional circuits, gone over the top and now they're not even working anymore.

"Ooh, alright," Craig purrs, drawing back. "Look who's being all dramatic… well, I'm out of here. Enjoy your misery—and I still know you have a little-boy crush on me, don't you worry. Pathetic to the end."

And then he's gone.


	6. SIX

**A/N** _Aaaand, this would be the chapter where things start to get a bit weird. Don't worry, I'm not launching into full-on sci-fi or anything, just messing with the storyline a little. The future chapters are still primarily focused on the romances :3_

**Thanks to** _Raven Child2 and xBeyondxBirthriceballx__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**SIX**

"K-Kenny… are you… are you okay?"

I don't want to hear Tweek's voice. Not right now. It's obtrusive, intrusive. Tormenting. I want it to end, right now, just want it to end so damn badly, and yet I know that that's completely impossible. I have to be the cursed one, the one not to be allowed any sort of escape.

_Of course I'm not okay, you idiot. _

"Go away."

"N-no. I'm staying here. Now what's the matter?"

Somehow, impossibly, his words warm me. Not in a noticeable way, really, just a very slight, almost imagined tickling at the edges of the cold void that my torso seems to consist of. Enough to prompt me to keep talking, at the very least. He deserves to hear me talk. So I do, the words dragging themselves through my throat and sounding like they've been ground in shattered glass.

"I'm an idiot, Tweek," I choke. "I'm a fucking failure."

"I—I don't think you're an idiot!" he objects. "Why would you call yourself that? You're not a failure, Kenny, not at all!" I can't see him, but his voice has surprising animation to it, almost convincing me that he actually gives a shit whether I live or die.

I raise my shaking hands to cover my face, taking slow, deep breaths of night air through the gaps in my fingers. "I gave him the gun, Tweek," I groan, the full weight of my action finally crashing down on me. Who cares whether or not _I _live; Tweek's in danger now.

"Oh… n-nothing will happen." I can tell by his voice alone that he doesn't believe this to be true, but I just grunt, humoring him. "Don't worry."

"Are you kidding?" I growl. After this—after _all this, _he tells me _not to worry. _It's so ridiculous that I actually have to hold back from laughing, though I'm sure that if I did let loose, it would be an entirely humorless sound.

"No, I'm not. I'm telling the truth."

"How the hell would you know that?" I demand. "Look what he's done to you…" His scars stand out in the stark moonlight.

His green eyes glint in an exasperated roll. "What he did to _me? _That's nothing. I don't really care. Just… like I said. It's nothing."

"_That's _certainly not nothing," I point out, inclining my head towards his half-exposed chest, gleaming under the soft folds of my parka.

"It's just his way of showing affection," he mumbles defensively.

I actually do laugh this time, a short, hard sound, like a shard of glass piercing the velvet night. "And that's why you were screaming for him to stop… and crying your fucking _eyes _out… of course it's not _nothing, _don't you see, don't you get it? Are you completely bat-shit crazy, or is the world just disintegrating? Because this, Tweek—_this _is _not _affection."

"No, I'm not crazy." He's oddly articulate, the words almost thoughtful despite the squeaky tone that they're projected in. "I… I want to think it's nothing. It's just… he's had a hard life. He needs therapy."

I really don't know how to respond to this. Not after everything. So I just sigh, shrug, and mutter, "It's over, then?"

"What's over?" He sounds genuinely puzzled.

"Everything tonight. All this… you're saying there's nothing more? This is it?"

"There's so much more. I'm just… suggesting."

"What—I don't understand." And I don't. Does he still expect me to take him with me? Is Craig going to come back? Should I be concerned with the fact that Craig has the gun, or just… let it go? That's one thing I can't do, let it go. This is never going to be it. I've set myself onto a new track, I know that—getting involved with these two. It was never going to be simple, but this—this is more than I ever expected.

I can't possibly go back now.

"What don't you understand?"

"I—I just don't know. I don't know any of this. Are you sure… why are you acting so strong? It's not like you know what to do any better than me." Even as I say the words, I'm hoping desperately that he has the strength to deny them. We're both blazingly aware of that. He doesn't, though, just kneels next to me. I can hear his breathing, up next to my ear, uneven and halting.

"I… well… I—I don't really know… either. I just… I want to be strong, I'm… I'm so afraid of him," he chokes. His skinny arms suddenly thread themselves around my neck, and I pull back initially, wondering if he's going to try and kiss me, knowing that I don't want that, not from him, not right now. I may have gone and fallen for Craig Tucker, but Tweek Tweak is a different story.

He doesn't, though. Instead, he buries his face in my sweat-stained shoulder and begins to shake with sobs.

Guilt runs through me like a bullet. He's such a _child, _underneath it all. An emotionally destroyed, overly sensitive, unfairly abused, and fucking _terrified _child.

I don't even think, just hug him back, hold his shaking form as close to my own as I can possibly manage. He hiccups heavily, his lips pressing against my shoulder, and I find myself gently rocking him back and forth, trying to stay near the tiny fragment of warmth in what's turned into a completely icy night.

"Y-you will let me come, won't you?" he finally whispers after a long stretch that must have been multiple minutes. It's such a sweet request that even if I hadn't been initially willing, I probably would've given in at this point.

"Yeah... of course. But I should warn you..." I swallow slowly. "I'm not much of a protector. I always fucking _die._"

"Die?" he squeaks, clearly horrified.

"Yeah." I don't waste time on melodrama, just spit the words out coldly. "Always. No one ever remembers it, but... I have this... this immortality thing. Basically... I get killed a lot, but I always come back the next morning. It's— well, I don't expect you to get it. Hell, you probably won't even believe me. No one ever does." It sounds so whiny, so self-centered.

"I— I don't understand..."

"Of course you don't. Why would you?" I say, half to myself. "Just... take my word for it. You can't rely on me for protection. After all, I can't say that you're exactly worth the world to me, either, Tweek. I mean, I'll stick with you, I'll try to... work with you, but keep in mind that we aren't even so much as _friends. _You got that?"

"Yeah... of course." There's something broken in his voice, but I pretend not to notice. I can't afford to get close to anyone. Just bringing up my immortality leaves me feeling raw, exposed, with a sick twist in my stomach. No one is supposed to know about that— I've only ever told Karen. And I have to keep telling her, too, every single time. She's never stopped believing.

I'm going to miss her, I realize. A lot. Enough to make my eyes burn out of almost nowhere. My throat suddenly feels swollen, but I ignore it, just continue steadily rubbing Tweek's back with one hand. I can't lose control right now.

"...Why do you like him?" he asks, suddenly.

I feel like my insides have been half-liquefied, and my nausea is more fierce than ever. But my lips are moving anyways, answering with words that don't even seem to form in my mind before reaching my ears.

"I don't know... I don't know why it is, but it's stupid. _So _goddamn stupid. So easily, he got me _so easily— _I'm just like all those useless little cunts at school. Maybe it was just your story..."

He sounds puzzled. "But... Kenny, you don't know him. Not really. You haven't seen that side of him— all you've been exposed to is the awful prick that he acts like these days."

His words stab deep inside of me, for some reason, make me feel like I'm cheating somehow, just jumping on the bandwagon. _Another one who thinks he knows Craig Tucker. _And, unbelievably, infuriatingly, this makes me... jealous.

Fuck, I'm _jealous. _

I'm wishing that _I _was the one he kissed in sixth grade, that _I _knew the real side of him, not Tweek. I wish that I was at the very heart of this mess instead of watching it from the sidelines, and the realization is sickening. Why should I want my life to be as screwed up as Tweek's? Though it is pretty damn bad already… still. _Still._

"It's stupid," I continue, choking on my words. "Stupid, and unreasonable, and I'm—I'm a fucking idiot. I'm so easy, I'm so _easy._" The lilt of my words is beginning to sound hysterical, half-insane, and I take a moment to breathe slowly, filling my lungs with fresh oxygen, trying to get a grip on my reeling emotions.

"Easy… easy to what?" He pulls back, hands still on my shoulders, just so that he can meet my eyes. I stare back at him with bemused disbelief. Can he really not understand what I'm saying?

"To steal… to wrap around his finger. I'm useless now. He just… played with me… and look at me. A wreck. Useless, useless, useless." I repeat the word over and over until my tongue stumbles over the two simple syllables, and I gag slightly, trying to arrange my lips properly again. The mantra continues, though, in my head. _Useless. Useless. _That's what I am, at this point. Utterly useless Kenny McCormick. I can try, sure—try to protect Tweek—but that won't get me anywhere. I'll be killed at some point, probably something completely phenomenal like a fucking alien invasion, something that completely destroys North America, so that no one notices the skinny kid in the orange parka lying bloody on the pavement.

Fucking spectacular.

"Is there… anyone else that you… like?" he mumbles. I can see jealousy raging in his eyes, even as he tries to hold it back, and can feel a matching emotion rising up in my chest. Holding it at bay is impossible, but I try to anyways, try as fucking hard as I can, because I don't want this, don't want this at all.

"No. No one. Not like this."

"Well… I just… don't understand. You were _just _telling me how you didn't see how anyone could—could l-love him." He struggles with getting the word out, and I can't say I blame him. It hurts every time it shoots through my mind.

"I know," I agree, dully. "Tell me about it."

"I thought you _hated _him."

"I did. Hell, I _do._ He's an asshole."

"But… it doesn't make sense. I mean… you, Kenny, and him. Craig. Him of all people."

"Me of all people," Craig agrees smoothly.

I'm fairly confident I shit bricks— or, at the very least, let out a very unmanly gasp and probably turn white as a fucking ghost. I don't know when I started shaking, but my whole body is suddenly consumed by massive shudders, as though I've been dumped into a tub of ice-cold water. "No," I groan, completely aware of how weak I sound. He can't be back, not right now, not when I was just beginning to calm down. My head feels fuzzy, and my lungs oddly overheated, struggling to push in and out. "No, no, no..."

He just snickers. I can't see him, not really, just a casually poised silhouette a few feet in front of us. Tweek's frozen completely, not turning to face him, just staring at some point over my left shoulder, the color steadily draining from his formerly flushed cheeks.

"No, what?" Craig challenges easily. "The truth is out..."

"Why're you here?" I demand, wishing that, for once, he'd give me a straight answer. I need to know, need to know why he's so determined to keep following us everywhere, to screw this up so damn badly.

"Who, me?" he mock-questions, then snorts, gesturing vaguely into the near distance— the outline of the gun in his hand is clear against the faint, blurry fog of a backlight.

I can't do this. I can't anymore.

I stand up, pretending that my legs aren't trembling like hell, and hold my arms out. "Okay." My voice is amazingly steady, the syllables dropping coldly into the misty night air. "I'm here. We're all here, now. So do it. Whatever it is that you want so badly... just get it the hell over with, so that you can leave us alone afterwards." The sweat from running earlier is dried, running in sticky, shivering streams down my bare chest, and I know that my hair's probably sticking up all the fuck over the place. Not an impressive figure by any means, but that doesn't matter. All I need right now is to get Craig off our trail, for good.

"Do what you want," I continue calmly. "This is it. I can't go on any longer, not with you doing this. Just end it however you might want to."

"Stop being so _pathetic,_" he sneers. Though his face is impossible to discern completely, I can see the cruel glitter of his eyes.

Then, suddenly, it's not cruel at all.

"Kenny," he gasps, falling forward and hitting the cement. The gun slips from his hand and goes spinning into the street. Everything inside me roars into action, conflicting emotions tented over with confusion building up in a very sudden and very chaotic whirlwind. My first instinct takes over, though, and I shoulder past Tweek, bend down next to Craig, extend a tentative hand and grip his shoulder, which, unbelievably, is quaking.

"What the—?" the blonde chokes from behind me.

"I haven't got much time," Craig slurs, slumping forward. I steady him, holding him up with one hand on his neck, trying to keep his chin upright so that I can focus on his eyes. It seems like his eyes are important— I need to see them, need to be able to hold onto them.

"Split personalities," he chokes, and the very concept almost makes me laugh out loud. It's stupid. Ridiculous. Like something out of a shitty sci-fi movie. I never liked sci-fi. Always preferred horror.

Seeing the look in his eyes, it strikes me that perhaps that's an appropriate genre to describe the situation, as well.

"This is me," he plows on resolutely. "The real Craig Tucker." He holds up a hand weakly, flips me the bird.

"What— what are you talking about?" I question intensely, shaking him slightly and ignoring Tweek's low noise of protest from behind me. "Some kind of trauma disorder? Dammit, Craig, talk to me!"

"Happened when I was... younger. Dad needed money... signed me up to be part of a... government experiment. They were testing some fucked-up personality alteration, wanted to see if they could... change people. Brain surgery. Didn't turn out too well... did it? Can't control it now..." He grimaces, doubling over yet farther. I move my hands farther down, to his upper arms, but he suddenly yanks them away with a brute force that causes me to tumble backwards, knocking my head against the cement. I yelp, and my eyes refocus in time to see him towering over me.

"What are you two fags looking at?" His spit hits my face, and I wipe it away, an awful lurch gripping my stomach as I raise myself up onto my elbows.

"What the hell j-just _happened?_" Tweek chokes from behind me. I don't turn around, instead stare stonily at Craig, who gazes impenetrably back at me, his arms sullenly crossed and his eyes once more blazing with defensive fury.

"You have to stop," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "Craig... you _have _to overcome this." My head is spinning, still unable to comprehend his ridiculous story. It can't be true, can it? This can't be about a... a government experiment. It's too classic. Too cliché.

Then again, this _is _South Park.

"We both know this isn't you, Craig," Tweek half-whimpers. I hear his hesitant footsteps behind me and know that he's coming up, approaching us, however tentative. Craig glares up at us, his head ducked, at such an angle that his face is entirely in shadow. Still, I can see his teeth glinting, and the realization that they're bared—like some animal—causes me to pull back ever so slightly. That's what he is right now, practically. A wild creature that could lunge out at any moment—and I suddenly notice just how close by the gun is, wonder if I could manage to kick it away without his noticing. All three of us are extremely vulnerable right now, all endangered by him.

"Craig…" I whisper his name, locking eyes with him, pale cerulean to dark navy, pleading silently that he come to his senses, that he shake off this ridiculous persona that isn't him, that never really was him.

He stares back, gaze hard. "What? What do you want?"

"…You," I finally murmur, giving up, just giving up on everything. "Why deny it anymore? I don't know how the hell it happened, but… I love you, Craig… I fucking love you… I never wanted to, and I still don't want to, because you're an asshole and an idiot, but… I can't help it. And I know that this isn't you, you just showed us who you really are. And I _need _you to pull through. For me, please, please, Craig. Please try to hold on."

One second passes, two, three. Then his lips frame the words _help me _and he slumps to the ground.

I don't think, but I know I'm talking, repeating his name over and over even though I know he can't possibly hear me. "Craig, Craig, hang in there, hold on, just hold on…" I'm lifting him up, cradling him in my arms, just holding him and feeling his head, his shoulders, barely aware of Tweek behind me. Somehow, for some fucked-up reason, my eyes are welling up with tears, and I have to press my face into Craig's limp shoulder, biting back a sob, forcing myself to hold on and just fucking _stay in control. _It's probably a mix of the double-bang and the shit stimulants I used, because I can't understand why else I'd be so goddamned emotional right now. I thought I knew how to seal myself safely off from emotion. Craig's not even _hurt _now, just unconscious, probably because he was as overwhelmed as I am, and… Jesus…

Now I'm crying. I'm not trying to—in fact, it's the absolute last thing that I want right now, but it's happening regardless, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I breathe in slowly, count to ten once, twice. _Tweek's still here, _I remind myself insistently, _he needs your help, you promised him… _I can't even remember if I promised him anything. I probably didn't. But there's still a sort of obligation inside of me, a need to make sure that he gets out of this night safe, too. I suppose our best option at this point is to just… leave him.

But how?

How the hell can we?

I take a slow breath, force myself to stand up, don't look at Craig's dark form sprawled on the ground. "We have to move." The words are foreign in my mouth, not my own. "We have to get out of here… have to leave him behind."

"No," Tweek whispers. I glance over at him. He's standing up, shaking like a scrap of paper in a tornado, his fist pressed to his mouth and his eyes wider than ever. "…No… we can't. Look at him, Kenny, we can't…"

"I don't want to look at him." It's like something else has taken over my mouth, the words are so cold and forced. I hate myself for being able to be so removed, and yet, at the same time, I'm glad that I can stay so in control. The tears are drying on my face, and I raise a hand to brush at their itchiness.

Tweek isn't moving.

"Tweek…" I begin slowly, watching him carefully. He shakes his head, keeps his pale eyes fixated on a point just under my right elbow that's doubtless where Craig lies sprawled on the sidewalk. "We have to go. We have to leave him. When he wakes up, he'll be… different again. We can't afford that, can we? We can't let you get hurt anymore…"

"Stop treating me like a fucking kid," he spits. It strikes me that I've been doing just that. He's _not _a kid—in fact, he's barely younger than me, and has probably been through just as much. Well, alright, he doesn't die almost daily, but still. He deserves more credit than I've been giving him. In all honesty, I'm amazed that he's managed to hold out this long.

"I'm sorry," I reply a bit quickly, "but we have to—"

"Help me." For a moment, I think it's Tweek's own plea, then it hits me that he's repeating Craig's words. "That's what he said… that's what he said to you, before he collapsed. He needs our _help, _Kenny, and this isn't helping."

"We don't have any choice…"

"There's always a choice. And I'm not leaving him."

I take a slow breath, trying to contain myself. "Tweek, please, _listen. _When he wakes up, he's not going to be like that. He's going to want to hurt you, like before. Hurt both of us, at that."

No reaction.

"Tweek…"

"I heard you," he snaps.

"You don't have to come with me." It's not until the words are in the air that I realize their validity. He _doesn't _have to come. He was the one who said he wanted to, after all—I didn't really have any part in it at all. If this is what he wants for himself, then that's his decision, and I don't have and right or reason to interfere with it. Tweek Tweak isn't my problem. No one's my concern but myself. I saved him from Craig, but I'm not going to be able to save Craig from himself.

My work here, as they say, is done.

Tweek frowns slightly, as though the concept of not joining me is an entirely new one. "Not…? Yeah, I… I guess I could stay with him…"

"Okay. Okay, then." I hesitate for an instant before leaning over, being careful not to look directly at Craig, and scooping up the gun. I examine it nervously under the faint moonlight, decide that it would probably be best to take it with me. Leaving it with Craig and Tweek, after all, would be absolutely idiotic. Anyone could guess what would happen then.

"Kenny…"

"Yeah?" I'm already walking away when his voice pulls me back, but I don't give him any more than a glance over my shoulder. He doesn't need any more acknowledgement than that.

"…I'm coming."

I frown slightly as the smaller boy hurries over in my direction, stands awkwardly at my side, biting his lip. "You're coming? Why?"

"Because… I just can't let you go, okay?"

"Why the hell not? I can take care of myself, you know."

"Yeah, I do know." He gives a small shrug. "It's just that… I… you're right. He won't… be the same when he wakes up… we need to stick together. I said that I was coming with you, and I am. I don't… I don't go back on my promises." A small, meek smile creeps across his face. It's sweet, almost cute, but I reward it with only a deeper scowl.

"How was that a promise? You're just going to burden me, you know."

Hurt flashes momentarily in his eyes, but it's short-lived. Something inside me clenches when I process that he must be too used to insults like this to even be truly affected by them anymore. They just bounce off him at this point.

"Then I guess you're going to have to deal with my burden."

"…Fair enough," I finally allow, sighing and turning my gaze back down the street. Here we are, two teenage boys who carry with them a total of one parka, a pair of jeans, and a gun, escaping home and preparing for the world, probably with a twisted government experiment on our tail who we both happen to be more than a little in love with.

Tweek takes a deep breath.

"Where to?"


	7. SEVEN

**A/N** _I actually really like the finished product of Chapter 7, looking back on it. Not much more to say, other than the fact that I'd genuinely love you for a review- just a few seconds of your time to comment, or at least acknowledge that you're reading this? Please? I really appreciate each and every one of the ones that I do receive. By the way, what do you all think of this new image feature? It just confuses the crap out of me, to be honest. __  
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**Thanks to** _SparklesMakeMeHappy__  
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**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**SEVEN**

"I need a bathroom," Tweek declares.

I look over at him, slightly surprised. We've been traipsing about for nearly half an hour now, rather vaguely winding our way through South Park, trying to find a way out like rats in a maze. I have a vague idea in my head all too appropriate for two in the morning—it feels as though if we keep going in a straight line like this, sidewalk after sidewalk, past as many houses as possible, we'll manage to come to the end of the Earth, beyond the point where anything matters. That would be a nice place to reach, right now. Away from it all.

But it seems that we'll have to make a pit stop at the bathroom.

"Well… looks like we're on the edge of town, so chances are that there's a gas station nearby." I'm surprised by the tone of my voice. It's low, cracked, almost. Very dry. It occurs to me that maybe we've been walking for longer than I thought, a suspicion enforced by the exhausted burn of my eyes and the aching pain in my feet, not to mention the permanent chill consuming my body from the frigid late-autumn air.

"O-okay… how much farther?"

I bite back an irritated retort. _This isn't some road trip, you idiot. _My family only ever attempted a road trip once—a disaster that ended in a mess of scars and beer cans. Still, I can vividly recall the pain of cooping up a rather large family in a single car for hours on end, and how the worst part of it all was the constant whining—_are we there yet? Huh? Huh? Are we?_

This is different, though, as I remind myself impatiently. Tweek deserves better than me, and I have to give him the best I have.

"I don't know how far it is. I guess we'll just have to find out. It shouldn't be too bad, though… I don't have a map or anything. Wait…" I happen to catch a glimpse of a rather faded neon sign, and the massive knot of stress in my chest loosens up ever so slightly.

"Here, right here." I take his skinny wrist and pull him along, paying no attention to his sharp squeak of confusion. Within moments, I can fully see the dirty front windows of a gas station shop—and an absolutely shitty one, too. Still, it's a bathroom, and if he needs one so desperately, something is better than nothing.

We enter it with no sound save a slight creak from the door—no stupid little bells hooked up to this one to signal our entrance. The disgustingly obese clerk glances at us with small, bloodshot eyes over the top of his Playboy magazine (a choice that I rather approve of), blinks once, then returns to his perusing of the crumpled pages clutched in his plump hands.

"This way," I mutter under my breath, not releasing my iron grip on the younger boy's hand. He trails after me, his feet slipping slightly on the dirty ground as he follows me towards the plastic _Toilets _sign. 80s rock music thrums lowly from hidden speakers, quality resembling the buzz of the fluorescent lights.

It's slightly quieter in the bathroom, though dirtier than ever. One of the mirrors is actually cracked, a great silver strand marring its dull yellowish surface. I find myself wandering over to it as Tweek slams shut the door of the nearest stall, staring at myself. My eyes are underscored with swipes of bruise-like purple, and my lips and chin are crusted with dried blood from where Tweek punched me in the nose earlier. Strange, I'd almost forgotten about the injury. Guess it just stopped hurting. My hands wander upwards of their own accord and grip the chilly sides of the big white sink, running along the perfect smoothness until they find bits where the formerly glossy paint has chipped off. These imperfections are reassuring, somehow. They tell me that I'm not the only broken thing in the world. That Tweek, Craig, and I aren't just three points of one damaged being, corrupting the planet.

I don't even know what my thoughts are anymore. I'm fucking exhausted, and it can't be past two at the very latest.

An uncontrollable bout of shivers seizes me suddenly, and a wave of nausea crests through my body. I wince, trying to remain upright, but my head is fuzzy and the next thing I know I'm on the floor, legs sprawled out slightly and hands thrust out to stop my head from cracking on the tile. Confusion pulsates through my body, but I can't pay it attention right now. I'm overcome by shudders, my shoulders shaking and my stomach lurching, and I manage to press my forehead against one of the sink pipes, exhaling in relief and relishing the welcome coolness that it delivers. After a few seconds, my head seems slightly clearer than before. I take in a slow breath, gathering my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms tightly around them.

An awful hacking noise suddenly reaches my ears, which seem to have been oddly clogged leading up to this point. Splattering follows it, and I realize that it's Tweek, presumably vomiting into the toilet. I remember his ashen face and feel guilt twist in my chest. It never occurred to me that he might be sick. I'd thought that he just had to piss, but… it continues for multiple minutes, and just when I think there can't possibly be anything left, the door to his stall swings open in a slow, shaky burst.

I glance up and see him doubled over, clutching at the wall. He's dead white, his lips pressed together and his body trembling. I rise slowly, ignoring the waves of sickness in my own stomach, and close the distance between us, offering him my hand. He takes it without question and we re-enter the main room, me trying to put on a casual face for the clerk, who clearly couldn't care less.

"Hey, um…" I sidle awkwardly up to where he sits, pulling Tweek behind me. I have to rap on the counter to get his attention, and when he glances up from _Playboy _again, he looks vaguely confused, as though he can't quite figure out where we came from.

"Mm?"

"Do you, uh… d'you happen to know a place to stay around here? For the night? It doesn't have to be anywhere nice, but, well…" I glance at Tweek, then down at myself, in an attempt to emphasize our sorry conditions, hoping he'll get the message that we just need somewhere to sleep.

"But…? Oh, I'shee." His words are slurred, almost drunken, but I have a feeling that his voice has grown that way more from disuse than alcohol. "You two're…?"

"What—?" I can blame my exhaustion for the fact that it takes me a moment to realize what the hell he's talking about. "Oh… oh, no, it's just… we need somewhere to sleep."

"Hmph." He clearly doesn't believe me. "Well, thersa place a li'l way from here, 'bout two miles down th'road…"

"Which way?"

He makes a vague gesture presumably indicative of the direction we're to take, and I nod. "Thanks."

"N'prob, kid. A'ytime…"

Tweek trails after me as I exit the shop, trying to stand straight. I want to look in control, for his benefit. I honestly don't think I'll last much longer without simply collapsing of tiredness, though. Two miles, that's what the guy said. What is that… if it takes us twenty minutes to walk a mile we could make it in forty, but considering how beat both of us are, I'd pin it at more like an hour.

"Looks like we have a while till we'd reach this hotel," I point out to him, in case he hasn't made the same calculations in his head and is just following me blindly at this point—the most likely case, I have to confess.

"How long?" he mumbles.

"An hour or so."

He doesn't groan, doesn't whine. "O-okay… I can probably make it…"

"Really?" I can't deny that I'm more than impressed by his apparent stamina. After all, he's already been forcibly screwed twice tonight, not to mention suffered through an incredibly stressful police encounter and a possible murder.

"Yeah…"

"Tweek, you don't have to—"

"What choice do we have?" His tone is almost calm, definitely resigned. "I just want a bed to sleep in tonight, Kenny. I can walk another hour for that."

"If you're sure…"

"Positive."

The rain starts maybe twenty minutes later. I've felt its presence in the air for a while, a lingering electricity that sends everyone indoors before the storm strikes, but I was letting it slide under my radar somehow, not fully recognizing the warnings until cold wetness begins to splatter my head. My dazed weariness causes me to raise a hand to the back of my head, only half-recognizing the sensation, and it takes a thunder crack to completely tell me what's happening.

I draw in a frustrated hiss of damp air. _Perfect, _I think furiously as lightning forks over the navy gray sky. Tweek jumps a bit next to me, and I set a hand on his shoulder to calm him, a silent reassurance that the weather can't hurt him.

"And I thought things couldn't get any worse," he mumbles.

I pull him in close to me with one arm, digging my fingers into the soft fluff of my own parka that he's still wearing. "It's okay," I promise, my voice unusually quiet. "It's just water. Not too bad. Almost like a shower."

"A shower with no soap, in the middle of nowhere."

"No need to be pessimistic."

"_Pessimistic?" _he repeats, incredulity gleaming in his upturned face. "Do you even—look around us!"

I'm not particularly interested in taking his command literally, as our current habitat is run-down and disgusting, but I get his point. What could I possibly expect? Euphoria? Cold droplets streak down my neck, and I tug Tweek in even closer, hoping to shield him from the worst of the chill. I don't actually mind the suddenly raging storm that much, though. Sure, the winds are just about strong enough to tear me apart, but the rain itself is… pleasant, in an icy sort of way. Refreshing, rejuvenating. For a moment, I feel almost like a kid again, running out and splashing through puddles, laughing with Stan and Kyle… but my mind's image is suddenly corrupted by another figure, one who stands silent and alone in the corner, head bent, letting the water crash down on him like a hurricane. There's someone else there, too, just one person—a skinnier silhouette, clinging to the first one's hand, comforting him…

_Where was I, all that time? He was so alone, with only Tweek, and I was enjoying myself…_

_I'm sorry, Craig. _

I am sorry. So sorry. And it hurts, all of a sudden, to realize that I can't go back and fix everything that I did wrong then, that I can't become his lifetime companion and playmate because it's too late. Seventeen years is too late, and I've wasted all this time being happy, happy when he was tortured. I didn't know a thing. I was ignorant, pleasurably ignorant.

And I hate myself for it.

I'm practically dead on my feet by the time that we reach the motel that the gas station owner was presumably talking about. And, to be honest, I think we might've boded better in an abandoned parking ramp. The place looks like shit even from the outside, which is saying a lot—to be honest, I'm surprised that the majority of the windows haven't already been blown out by the wind. A small sign identifies one of the doors as _Reception, _and I plod up to the low cement structure resignedly, telling myself that at least I'll be able to sleep in a bed—and, to be honest, that in and of itself sounds amazing right now.

"I don't have money," I'm already warning Tweek. We're going to have to find a way past it, which I've known from the start, but I don't want him thinking that we're going to be able to get in easily.

"It won't cost much."

"No, I mean I… don't have any. At all."

He nods, looking as though he was expecting as much—or, rather, as little. "It's okay… we can manage."

We step inside the place, and are immediately buffeted with a blast of air conditioning. A bit inappropriate for early November—in fact, I have to struggle not to shiver convulsively. It doesn't help that the thing makes a hell of a lot of noise, too, the mechanical whirr pounding on my head and starting up a long-overdue ache. The carpet is scuffed and iron-gray, and the walls of the place seem just two steps short of cockroaches, but other than that, it's a surprisingly sanitary little room. Looks better on the inside than on the outside, in any case. Though I'm sure it's still a whore hive.

"How may I help y'all, now?"

I jump slightly, then glance over at the oddly shaped man lounging in a molded plastic chair behind a wide desk. His body is formed almost like a water balloon, like a man who diets well but just doesn't have a skinny form. Somehow, though, I doubt that he has any concern whatsoever about his weight—his eyes are dark and sneering, his face streaked with an uneven tan and a shock of week-long stubble. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Complete creep, as I can tell from a single glance. Only to be expected, though, considering the hour that he's working at.

"We need a room…" Tweek mumbles.

"Alrighty," he drawls in what sounds rather like a mock Southern accent, straightening up ever so slightly in his little chair and tossing a crumpled chip back towards a trash can halfway across the room. It misses and flutters to the ground, where it sits in a rather mocking way, the greasy silver and yellow standing out against the dull gray. "That'll be—"

"…Wait."

"Yeah?"

"Can I talk to you… in the back room, or something?"

I can already see where this is going. My stomach clenches inexplicably—or perhaps not so inexplicably; Tweek's been through enough tonight already without this. But I don't make any move to stop him as the cashier willingly leads him through a door, which closes instantly, leaving me with the buzz of the air conditioner and the stupid chip bag.

I swear to God it's taunting me.

Sighing through my noise, I pace over to wear the thing lies on the ground and pick it up with my fingertips. It crinkles, barely audible over the roar filling the room, and I drop it into the trash can with more than a little disgust. It doesn't help that there's something highly resembling dried vomit plastered along the bottom of the bin, probably left there oh-so-considerately by some drunkard who checked in a few hours ago.

_Tick, tick, tick. _

It takes me a few moments to realize that the underlying sound filling the air isn't just abstract tapping, and must actually be coming from a clock. My eyes wander the plain walls until I locate one, positioned slightly to the right of the desk. It's 3:46, apparently. A hell of a lot earlier than I go to bed on a Friday, usually. But I'm damn exhausted—much more so than I was one night when I stayed up till seven and screwed three girls and a guy. Either my stamina is dying down, or emotions take a greater toll on me than I think. Or, rather, than I wish.

Emotions. I hate them.

Why can't I go back to the way things were before, the careful balance that I'd learned how to maintain over the course of the years, a steady management of constant indifference that kept me above misery and below happiness? I was… not content, exactly, not satisfied, but… acceptant that way. It seemed a good enough manner in which to live—not caring. It wasn't like I was ever going to reach Hell anyways, what with my immortality cycle, so why not just enjoy the damnedest parts of existence while I could, while I was still young like this? There was no need to get attached to anything, ever. My only plan for the future was to move out of my house—hopefully, constant deaths wouldn't always deliver me to my old bedroom in the mornings—and maybe even build myself a reputation, perfect my skills till people would pay real money to have me. That would be ideal, getting cash for fucks—everyone would win. Everyone.

But it's looking like no one does in reality.

After all, look at tonight. There's me, Tweek, and Craig. At the moment, all of us are in mile-deep shit, separated from our families and probably on the run from the police, too, after what we did to that one officer. We've got nowhere to go, and no one but each other. It's not like Tweek or I can turn to Craig, too—he's beyond any hope of saving.

That's the truth. I just wish I could bring myself to believe it.

Because I don't _want _to believe it, don't want any of it to be true, don't want Craig to be completely lost to us. I want it to end up like a fairytale, with happiness, redemption, satisfaction. Though, if it did have a perfect ending—a truly perfect one—it would mean the two of them being together. I can recognize that. I'm a third component, an added complication, and I don't have any right to the boy I'm in love with. Justice would result in my being left in the cold. As it always does, I suppose. I get to bear the load of rejection on my own.

But I'm getting carried away. So far, there's nothing saying that the end of all this will be happy at all—or that there even will be an end. Tweek and I could be stuck together for the rest of our lives, as far as I know, always with Craig's shadow looming over us… I have a sudden image of us as adults, living together, all because of one small promise that I wouldn't let us be separated. What would that make us? Not a couple, though I'm sure we'd resort to each other for a good fuck every once in a while. Not friends, even. I've given up on friends. Comrades? Allies? I suppose that's what we are, really.

A climatic, groaning yell comes from the other room, taking several seconds to die away.

I sigh, scraping my foot along the stubbly carpet. Shouldn't be too much longer now. I wonder briefly why I'm not more disturbed by Tweek's method of obtaining a room, then decide that I'm really too tired for it to matter at this point. I'm barely blinking at all, my eyes open and fixated on the wall in a kind of glazed stare. Sleeping on my feet. My mind's turned into a blank stretch of numbness, so that at this point I don't care about much anything anymore, just with that Tweek would hurry up with his job on the cashier and give us access to a goddamn bed already.

Still, it's a few more minutes before he finally comes back out, looking more beat than ever, but at least wearing slightly too-big pants. The cashier must have had some on hand. I'm not complaining; it'll probably work better for him than just the parka, even if it covered him as well as a small dress. The night worker plods out after him, a vague grin on his disgusting face. My stomach boils with rage that I can only pin to defensiveness. Stupid bastard deserves less than Tweek's self-sacrifice. Still, it's over now, and we have what we want.

"Here," Tweek murmurs, sidling up to me and pressing a metal key ring into my hand. "We're room 7C, just down there." He inclines his head down the left hallway stretching away from the reception room, and I nod, throwing one last half-nervous, half-furious glance in the direction of the cashier, who waves jauntily at me. My only response is to whip around and stalk down the hallway, pulling Tweek behind me.

"…Thanks," I mutter.

He looks over, brow furrowing. "What for?"

"That, obviously." For some reason, I'm uncomfortable talking about it—which is weird, because sex is one of the topics that I treat the most casually. "What you did back there… to get us a room. I imagine it was—well, difficult… never mind, okay? Let's just get to bed."

He watches me almost suspiciously for a while, until my neck begins to prickle self-consciously under the invisible pressure of his deep green eyes. "Cut it out!" I finally snap, glaring at him. "Let's just go inside!"

"You have the key." His voice is quiet, even.

"Oh—right." I feel briefly guilty for my bout of frustration, but don't act on it, just unlock the door that we're standing in front of to reveal a small, dingy room with a TV from the Stone Age and a single twin bed. Fucking wonderful. Still, there are pillows, and it's such a welcome sight that it causes my head to literally pulse with exhaustion. I stumble my way over, flopping onto the mattress. It barely supports my weight, just creaks lowly. My half-closed eyes wander over to the window, wondering how long it'll be before the first faint whispers of sunlight start ghosting over the horizon. Just a few hours, I suppose. Well, fuck. With a groan, I pull a rather musty-smelling sheet over my head, welcoming the darkness that it brings. I'm not even properly positioned on the bed, but screw that—I'm half-asleep already.

"Kenny," Tweek sighs, "I need to fit on there, too, you know."

I muster up just enough energy to adjust my position slightly, pulling myself to the edge of the bed and actually sliding my legs under the thin covers. He takes much longer to settle down, and I can't help but notice how much distance he puts between us—about eight inches, as much as the tiny bed will allow. It feels… cold, somehow, but I act as though I'm not bothered. I don't have any reason to be, after all. The pillow is soft and feels much thicker than it really is, and that's pretty much all I can think about. My body feels as though it's laden down with rocks.

It can't be more than seconds before I pass out completely.

* * *

When I wake up, I feel refreshed, alert. I sit quickly, resulting in my head spinning slightly. I blink rapidly, and note that sunlight is now fully blazing through the window. Tweek is a warm lump under the covers next to me, only a few bits of his straw-colored hair poking out. I wish that I could sink back into restful oblivion, but I'm far from tired now. I can't remember any dreams—I must have slept like a fucking log. Understandable, I suppose, looking back on how exhausted I was.

Soundlessly, so as not to disturb Tweek, I slip out from under the welcomingly warm covers, pacing over to the window. Now that I can focus on it better, I note that the sunlight is in fact deep crimson—Christ, it's already setting. This fact gives me light chills for some reason—perhaps it's fundamental fear of the dark, but I can't help but think Craig will be able to reach us easier when it's nighttime. It's scary—beyond scary. It's terrifying.

A few moments later, I realize that I'm not frightened by the idea of him coming back.

I'm just horrified by how much I _want _it.

Because I miss him. Already, I miss him so much that it's like a physical ache in my chest. I need him back, _want _him back.

Is that so wrong?

_Stupid, that's a stupid question. _Of course it's wrong. What could be _right _about wanting a teenage rapist and possible murderer to come _back _to us—including Tweek, his prime victim? My mind is completely screwed up. A total and utter ruin. Still, the thought of his face, of his smile, however cruel, and his eyes, however dark…

I realize that I'm standing at the window, staring straight into the sun, which is burning fiery impressions of itself into my eyes. They always tell you not to do that, saying that it will damage your retinas or whatever, make you go blind. I've never believed that, though, and I still don't now, not as I glare at it as hard as I possibly can.

Time seems to be passing spottily, one minute taking years and the next milliseconds. My mind is both alight with a thousand thoughts and a wide, complete blank. I wish Tweek would wake up, at least give me someone to talk to. I feel like I might be going insane. Maybe I already was insane. Yeah, I probably have been for a while now. My hands drifts lazily to the side of my head, fingers forming an imitation of a gun and pressing against my temple. If this was a real weapon… the mock trigger twitches.

_If, right now, I had the ability to end it all, if only until morning… get out of here, be back home… where no one expects anything of me, where I'm free to laze in the corner and smoke whatever the fuck I want, screw whatever girls want me—and a lot of them do… not held back by Craig, not held back by Tweek…_

_Not held back by Tweek…_

Small whimpers suddenly rise from his corner on the bed, which slowly solidify into words. A name. Over and over.

"Craig… C-Craig!"

My hand falls to my side, the "gun" slipping away into nothing. I can't. I can't give up, even just in my mind. I have to stay strong… I have to stay strong for him.

I glance over at him briefly, see that he's tangled in sweaty sheets, now almost screaming but still very much asleep. I can't see his face—he's lying on his stomach—but his whole body is trembling, trembling horribly. He acts strong when he's awake, but this—this is complete vulnerability. I can see what he really is, hidden underneath all that. I can see that he needs me, as reluctant as I may be to give that required help.

_I can't leave. Not now. _

_I have to stay. _

_For him. _


	8. EIGHT

**A/N** _Chapter eight, tralala~ This one feels a tad bit rushed/confusing, but whatever. I suck at writing romantic angst. Cheers. Review?__  
_

**Thanks to** _SparklesMakeMeHappy__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**EIGHT**

"Kenny?"

It's the first time that Tweek's said my name among the incessant groans of _Craig _that have been filling my ears for at least an hour now, so it's no surprise that I look over immediately, seeming to do so just as the last whisper of sun sinks down over the dark smear of the urban horizon. He's sitting up, sheets wound up in his shaking hands, eyes wide and haunted. If I was thinking that rest would rejuvenate him as much as it did me, then I was horribly wrong. He looks like a zombie, almost, dark circles sweeping under his pale eyes and skin waxy. As I watch, his thin arms drape around his knees and his head falls between them. Low sobs begin to run through his body. Without thinking, I walk over and kneel down next to the bedside, almost unconsciously reaching out a hand and tentatively running it through his hair. He hesitates for a moment in the middle of the action, his shaky shoulders stilling for a brief instant.

"Tweek… are you…?"

He doesn't answer, but takes a deep, rattling breath before straightening up, tears swimming in his eyes. "I have a couple of dollars," he mumbles, the words distorted by what can only be a horribly raw throat. "Nicked them from Chuck—the cashier—last night. I was thinking… we could get something from the vending machine…"

"Vending machine?" I repeat, slightly confused. "But… why…?"

"There's just something about them," he responds unclearly. "Just… they make you happy, don't they? Vending machines, the satisfaction of getting a really big bag of Skittles… or, y'know, whatever you like. It just… I could use a little happy thing like that."

I don't ask him to explain any farther, because it doesn't need to be detailed out any more than that. I know exactly what he means, and as impractical as it may be to use up our small amount of money this way, I can understand the urge. Besides, something that makes him happy has got to be worth a couple of bucks. They wouldn't have gotten us far, anyways.

"Okay." I hold out my hand, and he grips it tightly, pulling himself off of the bed. Once again, I'm struck by just how _light _he is. Skittles will do him well. "Come on, then, let's not waste time," I half-tease, guiding him towards the doorway and pointedly ignoring a medium-sized cockroach making its way across the wall.

The walk down to the lobby is uneventful, but I feel a bit sick when I see the same cashier—Chuck, Tweek had called him—sitting in his chair, looking bored. It must be just about the start of his shift. Damn it. I was hoping for someone else, someone who didn't… give Tweek the looks that Chuck does. They nauseate me.

However, it's not Tweek who he calls over.

"Hey—hey tall boy!"

At first, I think that maybe I'm imagining his voice. It's nothing more than a rasping whisper, after all. But then it comes again, and I'm forced to look away from Tweek, approaching the dusty vending machine, and instead switching my attention to Chuck's hunched form. He looks more attentive than before, leaning over the desk with one shoulder up by his ear, forearms flat and thumbs twiddling. Uneasiness rises up inside me, but I close the distance between us anyway, ferociously gnawing at my bottom lip—an anxious trait that I've had for far too long.

"Alrighty, then." His greasy fingers beckon that I come a little farther, and I lean in, holding my breath so that I don't have to inhale his disgusting scent.

"What do you want?" I hiss.

His eyes flicker purposefully in the direction of Tweek, who looks remarkably ignorant, glancing over the assortment of items inside the vending machine. "That yours?"

"Uh—no. Not at all." It's a reflexive response, and I don't even stop to think it out, don't imagine that the answer could possibly be any different if I did. "We're…acquaintances. Just happen to be traveling together."

"Mm, yeah. Really _close _acquaintances, now, ain't'cha?"

"No…" I don't feel like arguing, but it looks like it's the only thing that will get us anywhere. I release a low sigh, letting my head hang slightly. "We're not like that… really. He has… someone."

"Really, now? Such a _shame._"

Something about this guy is really pissing me off. Maybe it's his greasiness, maybe just his obnoxious-as-shit accent, but I can feel myself bristling. "What do you want?" I finally demand, my voice rising a bit louder than before. I hastily cut it off, risking a glance over at Tweek. He seems absorbed in his task, though, now sliding a dollar bill into the machine.

"Well, I was just gonna say…" The creep leans into me, mouth almost brushing my ear, and I have to resist the urge to punch his ugly fucking face. "I'd use him while the owner is away. He's _good, _didja know that? Real good, especially considering the fact that he's _tiny._"

"I really don't…" I take a deep, slow breath, trying to calm myself. "I don't think we need to be having this discussion. It's none of your business anyways. Good?"

"He's a vulnerable little one, too," he goes on, "will scream for mercy, do anything if you ask him to…"

"Trust me. I know. Now, please—"

"Oh, so you _do _know?"

Fuck. Well, there's no going back now. All I can do is try my best to explain without revealing the highly illegal and immoral activities that occurred last night.

"It's not like… it was… it was nothing," is the best I can stutter out. I glance in Tweek's direction, raising my voice. "Dammit, Tweek, aren't you fucking ready yet?"

He jumps slightly, glancing over with wide eyes and a rather skimpy box of Milk Duds clutched in one hand. "Y-yeah… I'm coming."

"Before you go," Chuck hisses in my ear—I can feel his grin brushing up against me, and an involuntary shudder of disgust wracks my spine. "One more thing… when I was done wrecking him… he was crying for you. For your forgiveness. Just so y'know…" He sits back, and I have no choice but to turn around and escort Tweek back up to the room, even as my eyes burn inexplicably. I blink at them in irritation, easily maintaining the uneasy silence between us. It's not a feeling that I'm used to, and I actually have to lift my fingers up to my eyes, brushing them lightly over the lashes.

They come away wet.

Aw, shit. Fucking Jesus. There it goes, the last of my resilience. I can't shake it off, though, the disbelieving little twinge of amazement contained inside of me. I shoot Tweek a sideways glance, taking note of how oblivious he is, wondering if Chuck was telling the truth or just somehow trying to prompt me into making a move on Tweek. I can't see any reason for the latter.

But… why me?

Every time, every single time, it's been Craig who he's thought of. Even in his sleep.

This time, though…

I don't understand what my emotions are doing. Don't even know if I _want _him to be attached to me in that way. He's my friend. Not even that. He's my partner. My partner in _survival. _I don't need anything else, don't _want _anything else… before I can even try to pull myself together, we're in the room again, and I'm sitting down onto a stiff wooden chair tucked into the corner, while Tweek flops onto the bed, sucking one of his candies. His gaze drifts up to the ceiling, but I can't seem to look away from him. He _is _kind of pretty, I suppose, in a vulnerable way. So small.

"What did he want?" he asks finally, voice quiet.

"What, that cashier creep?" My mouth is moving without my brain's cooperation, for which I'm more than grateful. "Just… talking about how… good you were…" For some reason I can't target, my words are taking a turn downwards, into a sort of growl, almost. I sound angry, but I can't figure out where _that _emotion would be coming from, out of all possibilities.

To my shock, he practically screams back at me, sitting up straight. "I don't like him! I didn't have any choice, there was no other way of payment and I just wanted you—" Then he flops back, breathing heavily and shaking his head back and forth.

I blink a couple of times, more than a little alarmed. "Wait… what?" The response doesn't make much sense, but then again, his fevered reaction was entirely unexpected. "I… I know you don't like him…"

"I… wanted you to be happy…" His eyes are shining with tears now, a sight that I wish I was less familiar with. "I didn't want you to have to sleep on the streets, I didn't want us to have to live in fear, I _knew _we didn't have any money… but it's not like we could go home… or to a friend's house…"

It's only now that I realize just how much the 'payment' much have cost him. Sex is obviously a sensitive area to him, after everything with Craig—and with me, too, I realize, my stomach suddenly acidic. I hurt him, too. But, still, he did this for… for us. He sacrificed his dignity and his comfort to get us this shitty dump of a motel room.

"I… I know you think _nothing _of me, but…"

"But what?" I demand, leaning forward.

"I like you, okay?" Tweek yells, his face bright red. Before I can so much as flinch, he's bolted out of the bed and into the bathroom, the lock of which then slides shut sharply. I can hear his sobs through the door, but can't do much myself other than stare at the rumpled place on the bed where he'd sat moments earlier. The Milk Duds box is still there, practically full, some of its contents spilling out onto the tangled sheet.

"I don't think nothing of you," I whisper to the empty room.

Slowly, I let my breath out—every last bit of it, completely clearing my lungs. Rolling my shoulders in an effort to calm my body down, I pace over to the window, press my palm against the cold glass and let the chill of the fresh night seep through, taming the heat of my skin.

It all started with that damn bastard Chuck.

I can't stop the growl that rises to my lips even at the thought of his name. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to start this… this extra layer of tension between Tweek and I? Before, we were fine. We got along well enough. Now, I'm confused as hell and he's in the bathroom crying. I don't even know what he means by _like. _It could be a platonic thing. Hell, it probably is. It's an adventurous enough declaration even if it only means that much, to be honest.

But I can tell that it isn't. Not completely.

More than anything else, it _confuses _me. I don't get it… I honestly don't. Why me? He doesn't know me. And he has Craig.

The thought of Craig doesn't help my current state.

Because I have all the feelings for Craig that Tweek supposedly has for me. Or does he, even? That's the problem—when I think of Tweek, my stomach lurches in a sick way. When I think of Craig, it does so in a wonderful, perfect, girlishly excited little tilt.

This is so _wrong. _

Chuck's voice creeps back into my head now, greasy and slimy and utterly disgusting. His words, talking about how Tweek was calling my name… asking _me _to forgive him, of all people… me… I feel dirty, somehow, like I need to take a long shower. That's not what I need, though. Far from it. What I need is to clear this up, resolve this sudden trench between us and return us to our former, much more acceptable state.

I stand up in a single harsh movement, and half-run over to the door, which I then bang a fist on impatiently. "Tweek?" My voice is calmer than my movements, but still has a core of firmness. Christ, I sound like some sort of disapproving teacher. I try again, a bit softer this time, holding my hand still but still poised above the door. "Tweek… can you open up the door, please? I just… I just want to talk to you."

"W-what do you… want?" His voice is reluctant, sniffling.

I take the hint immediately—changing the subject would probably be a good idea right about now. "Well, it's just… we can't stay here, you realize. We should move… go somewhere else, keep on the run. We're still too close to South Park. It'll be too easy for Craig—"

"I know we should!" he screams, and the reaction is so severe, so unexpected, that I actually stumble back from the door, half-tripping over the unexpected obstacle of the bed rising up from behind my knees. More sobs make their way to my ears, and the door creaks as he presumably slumps down against it. I can see a tiny bit of his shadow through the crack under it, see how it's quivering. I want to be able to go in there and comfort him so damn badly, and yet it's impossible. I'm not going to break down a locked door, though I'd probably be capable of doing so to one this crappy. We can't afford the cost it would take to repair it, and the thought of an angry, indebted motel in pursuit of us is even worse. So I hold myself back, taking a deep breath and trying to talk to him again, this time from the safe distance of the bed.

"Tweek… are you okay?"

"No, I'm _not!_" The door bangs open, and I can't stop myself from scrambling backwards onto the mattress, because he looks so damn _pissed. _It's scary, really—he's usually so mild-mannered, but this—this is pure, terrifying fury, and I don't even know what he's so angry _at. _Clearly, this is about more than I thought. I didn't do anything offensive to him, did I? _Did _I? Shit. Knowing me, I probably did. I shakily raise my hands up in front of me to indicate surrender, but get nothing near an appropriate response.

He breaks then, just sort of collapses—not physically, but internally. The brief life of the blazing walls behind his eyes is over, and the he's standing there, shaking, face flushed and teary, fists scraped up and blood-streaked from where he must have been pummeling the door.

"I… I just wish he was here, I… I want to… I just want to give him a… a big long hug…"

Oh, Jesus. How am I supposed to deal with this? He's like a little fucking _bunny rabbit. _"Yeah," I agree, a bit more glumly than I intended. "I know what you mean."

"Just… to sleep next to him… to feel him next to me…"

Well, I can't say I know what that's like. Still, the thought of being that close to Craig… I can't deny that it excites me a little, in a damp, lonely sort of way.

"I just want him back…"

His knees fold in a gentle, almost graceful way, and he ends up on the ground in a small, shaking heap. I don't have time to think before I'm next to him, rubbing gentle, comforting circles on his back, whispering words of reassurance. "It's okay… it's fine, we'll get him back eventually. I promise we will." I consider adding '_you have me,' _but then decide that such a thing would be rather outright. I'm second-guessing all of my previous thoughts now. 'I like you' doesn't seem to be all that big of a thing, after all. He's only worried about Craig, after all.

Why the hell is that _disappointing?_

This is what I wanted, isn't it? For things to go back to normal, for me to not have to worry about an extra layer of emotion between us. Of course. I'm just confused, that's all. Just confused and tired, despite the fact that I was completely rejuvenated when I woke up this evening.

Tweek seems to read my mind. "Hey, I—I know we slept all day, but… I think you need more rest… you've been uneasy, and you need it more than I do… you're the strong one… in case I get hurt, I'll… I'll n-need you…" His smile is shaky, but, at the same time, it seems genuine. He's actually happy—well, not happy, but almost… hopeful. He really is relying on me, I realize with a hint of amazement. He really believes in me.

Probably more than I believe in myself.

"I'm fine," I murmur.

It's an automatic response, though, and I'm already sighing with resignation even before he rolls his eyes at me. "No, you're really not. Just go to bed. Now."

"Get me up by midnight, okay?" I ask quietly, giving him one final pat on the shoulders before rising to my feet with a yawn. "We can try and get out of here… might actually be able to acquire a car." I can drive well enough, and he probably has a license, even if my parents never bothered to sign me up to get one. He nods absentmindedly, and I struggle not to think about the fact that he'll probably let me sleep long after midnight. Exhaustion really begins to creep in when I pull the covers over myself, and I'm practically asleep by the time my head sinks onto the pillow.

* * *

It feels much later when I wake up again—and it is, judging by the fact that my body is heavy from oversleeping. It's definitely been more than the few hours that spanned the distance from the time when I got in bed and midnight. I sigh and start to sit up, scolding words forming in my mind. But something's anchoring me down. For a moment, I'm scared, confused, but then realize that it's Tweek himself.

He's crawled right up next to me, it would appear, and secured his arms firmly around my waist. I glance over and see that he's asleep, his face pressed into the pillow and his small, skinny chest rising and falling gently over the thin cover of the aqua-hued blanket.

His grip tightens suddenly as a small whimper of distress escapes his lips. I don't need to hear Craig's name to identify the source of Tweek's obvious nightmares. I twist around, careful not to disturb him, until we're fully facing each other. Then I lower myself back down onto the mattress, sighing slowly. He whines louder, face hidden in the single pillow shared between us. Despite the fact that he's clearly upset, I can't deny that this is peaceful somehow. Chuck must have finally fixed the damn air conditioning, because the room is warm, pleasantly so, and the darkness is welcoming, inviting me to sink back into sleep. But our alarm clock's numbers glow mockingly at me: _1:03 am. _An hour and three minutes past when we were supposed to leave. I can't fall into the trap of unfounded exhaustion—I have to be responsible, have to make sure that we keep going, that Craig never catches up with us.

"Tweek…" I shake his shoulder as gently as possible, muttering. "We have to go… it's late, we have to get up…"

His eyes spring open and he kicks out at me with a defensive squeak, pulling the blanket up to cover his face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay!" I try to smile reassuringly, but it aches, as though the muscles are out of use. "Nothing to worry about, it's fine. We just have to go now, before that changes. Okay? Can you get up, or…?"

He glances towards the clock, and guilt softens his features. "I—I'm sorry, I was going to wake you up…"

"It's fine. We just have to go now."

"Right… okay…"

But I suddenly can't make myself move, even as he scrambles up and runs a hand through his mussed hair, looking vaguely displeased at its greasiness. I realize with a slight shock that we've been running for over twenty-four hours now, though most of that time was spent sleeping. Karen's probably noticed that I'm gone, though I doubt anyone else has. Stan and Kyle? No, they'll just think I'm passed out in my house, sleeping off Friday night. What is it now? Sunday? Damn, I've lost track already. Oh, well. Not like it matters.

My thoughts move in aimless cycles like this, and it takes me a moment to process the fact that I'm trying to avoid something. Then it hits me—Tweek's words, from yesterday. _I like you, okay? _I have to figure those out, before they stew too much in my mind and start really taking on meaning that wasn't originally intended to go with their delivery.

"Uh… Tweek…"

"Hm?" The sound is closer to _mur, _a sort of curious kitten squeak.

"That, um… that thing you said earlier…"

"I—I'm sorry!" he half-gasps, half-cries, his eyes flying wide open as he straightens up completely, looking almost electrified. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry—I didn't, I mean, I…"

"No, it's fine!" I promise bewilderedly. "Really, it's fine. It, well… it made me feel… good." It takes the journey of the words out of my mouth to realize that they're completely true. As confused as I was afterwards, I can't deny the elation that gripped me at the knowledge that, on whatever level, he liked me. He genuinely _liked _me. There aren't many people who can say that—tons of girls crush on me, I'm aware of that. Plenty more just want my body. But to like me, genuinely _like _me for who I am—God, I don't think there's a single other person on the planet who can lay claim to such a thing. "I was just… well, wondering… what exactly you meant by that."

His flushed face coupled with the spikiness of his hair is extremely adorable, and I actually have to resist the temptation to pull the poor guy into a hug. I can't distract him, though, have to let him answer my question. It'll make things easier for both of us—I know it will. It'll be worth the moment of tension that we're currently suspended in.

"You just…" he whispers, looking almost thoughtful, in a scared way. "You, well, you make me… h-happy?"

I blink, once.

"Yeah… I suppose that's it. Just… you remind me so much of him when he was… l-less… abusive, you know… when he was better… when he was okay… I wish that… he could be like that again. I wish… every night, every single night…"

"But… I did those things to you, too." I don't even know why I'm protesting, just that I want to make sure the whole truth is out in the open, that he's not forgetting anything, not thinking that I'm someone I'm not. "I… I'm such an asshole, but I did, Tweek. I… I hurt you. Just like him. I…" The words are dry in my mouth. "I raped you."

My fingers twist into my hair as the full realization comes crashing down on me, the absolute horror at what I did. "I'm such a _motherfucker,_" I gasp, tears welling up in my stinging eyes. "Just… he didn't even offer me anything, it was just for _fun… _I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyways, just for… for pleasure…"

He's not even listening to me, hasn't even broken his steady monologue. "I put up with him, I clean up his messes, I—I cover for him… it's so much, too much, but… I love him enough to make everything worth it, I really d-do. I keep making this wish, hoping that maybe he'll… understand somehow, that he'll somehow realize it… maybe…"

My teeth are clenched tight together. "Realizing how much you two had is—is hard for me," I manage to choke out. The words are selfish, completely, ridiculously selfish, and yet I can't hold them back, because they're so damn true.

He leans forward suddenly, wraps his arms around my neck and squeezes tight. I don't so much as hesitate—just secure mine around him, pressing my mouth into his shoulder. "B-but you can help," he sniffles into my neck.

"How can I help?" I demand instantly. "Tell me how I can help. Please, please tell me how I can help you."

"You can just… help me get him back, help me get him back to normal… it might take a while, but if anyone can bring him back, it's you, I know it is… just… stay with me. P-please don't leave… I don't know what I could do if you left."

"I won't. Never," I breathe back, clinging to him as tightly as I can. "I… I swear to God, okay, Tweek? As long as I can help it, I will never, ever leave you. Not ever. I…"

I don't know what the end of that sentence was supposed to be, so I just let it trail off. I hold him for a while, taking in his warmth, sighing through my nose. It's such a nice break, just to have a moment, a single, tiny stolen moment amidst all the chaos that we've been going through. I don't even know what we are at this point, to be honest—friends, I suppose. He's my friend. My friend. The words actually fit in my mouth, don't feel wrong as I would have expected. He _is _my friend. Probably my only friend in the world. My lips, brushing against my own parka that he's wearing, curve into a small smile that I can't quite hold back.

_Thank you, Tweek. _

"Do we have to go quite yet?" he asks after a while. He sounds much calmer than before, even and leveled out.

"Not if you don't want to," I reply gently. "I mean, I obviously hate this fucking dump of a motel, but…"

His laugh is a bit high, a bit off, but still real, almost bubbly. I don't know if I've ever heard Tweek genuinely laugh before.

It's nice, I decide.

"Then… if it's all the same to you… let's stay for a while," he murmurs. "I don't think he'll come for us again too fast. I mean, we'll obviously have to go eventually, but for now…"

"For now," I whisper, gripping his shoulders warmly, "we stay."


	9. NINE

**A/N** _Lots of reviews last chapter, awesome! :D I took the advice of 'to log in or not log in' and changed the names in the character category to Craig and Tweek, but it's still going to be Kenny-centric, so yeah. __  
_

**Thanks to** _SparklesMakeMeHappy, Tayviee, to log in or not log in, and Raven Child2__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**NINE**

Time passes. It starts out slow, so that I can feel every one of his breaths, count the heartbeat that we seem to share. _One, two, three, four, five… _infinite, never-ending numbers, spinning off into the silence. It's remarkable, really, how I can sit here, not in the least bored or twitchy or impatient, just… satisfied. Content, if that were possible—but it's not. It's dark, so dark, and very warm. I could practically fall asleep, despite my major lack of tiredness, but I don't _want _to. I like it this way… want to stay conscious so that I can remain in this delicate sphere of something approaching happiness. How long has it been since I've felt happy—really, truly, genuinely _happy? _I can't remember, to be completely honest. It feels like some sort of fairy tale, a myth that I'm just beginning to touch again. Craig may be the one that I want with every cell in my body, but he doesn't make me feel like this. He's about blood and desperation and tears—beautiful, beautiful things, but not _happiness. _That's almost more delicate, more rare, more difficult to forge. And yet here it is, right here, shimmering uncertainly in the heated air between Tweek and me.

After a while, though, the minutes begin to tick by more quickly, until time seems to be pouring through my awareness like sand through splayed fingers. We're running out of it, and quickly, but I could hardly care less. This is nice… so nice. Tweek is slumped against my shoulder, his weight fully resting on me, and I wonder at one point if he's actually fallen asleep. I'm on the verge of asking him with a simple _Hey, _or maybe murmuring his name, but a different thought suddenly decides to cross my mind. It's a stupid one, and I'm tempted to ignore it, but it's suddenly nagging at me, absurdly insistent.

"Tweek… when Chuck talked to me earlier… I, well, I didn't tell you everything that he said."

The soft body pressed against mine stiffens instantly, and I can feel him fidget. "Wh-what are you talking about?" he asks, sounding a good deal more scared than he should. I stroke the back of his head gently, in an attempt to calm him down.

"Nothing big… just… well… he asked about you. He asked me whether I had… whether you _belonged _to me. Obviously meaning that… you know…"

"Y-yeah." I think he might nod, but if so, it's barely big enough for me to feel even without a shirt barring the distance between his chin and my shoulder.

"I told him that you weren't, that you were Craig's. And I was just wondering… well… was that the right answer?" I want to bite the words back as soon as they've parted ways with my tongue, but I force myself to stay silent, not making amends, just letting them hang there. He could back away easily enough, if he wanted to. He probably does want to, anyways, and that's perfectly fine. Shouldn't concern me. I don't want any more than he's willing to give me, after all.

"I… t-too much pressure," he whimpers, but it sounds halfhearted, more of a desperate excuse than anything else. Despite my supposed resolve, I find myself talking again.

"I can decide for you… if it's too much pressure…" I'm pulling back now, cupping his chin in my palm, turning his head around to face me. For once, he's not crying, and his eyes are even prettier when they aren't fogged up by a sea of tears. That pine green is bright, acute, surprisingly sharp despite its minty softness. "If you want…"

He doesn't respond, but his mouth opens a tiny bit. Unable to resist, I move my thumb over, running ever so slightly along the edge of his lower lip. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows convulsively, and I stare straight at him, not breaking our carefully maintained eye contact.

"Do you want me to?"

"I should… I should be able to make my own decisions," he whispers, though there's no strength in the tentative syllables. He's clearly just trying—and failing—to reassure himself. "I've never been good, though… I always… fail at it… everything, really, I'm just a failure all around…"

"No, you're not," I promise calmly, feeling the truth in my own words. If there's one thing that Tweek isn't, it's a failure. He may be neurotic, paranoid, hyper, jumpy, annoying, weak, but he doesn't fail, because… well… there's just something about him, something internal, that keeps on fighting no matter what. He's resilient, even if it doesn't seem so on the outside. "You're not a failure, Tweek. I promise you're not."

"Liar."

The single word is pronounced in a light, lilting way, like a teasing girl, but it sends a thousand chills down my spine. Unlike Tweek, I don't jump, just sink farther into the mattress, squeezing my eyes shut as if to block out reality. _No, _I think steadily—not frantically, just evenly, as though if I'm firm enough in my determination for this not to be happening, it won't be. _No, no, no. I promised him you wouldn't find us here. Please, no. Not here. Not now. _

I'm saying it, too. "No."

"No, what?" Craig questions aggressively. "What are you saying, baby face? Being gentle? _Kind? _So unlike you."

I don't want to think that that's the truth, but it probably is. This isn't me. Not at all. Still, I don't let my doubt show. "Why?" I question instead, still not facing him. I can feel his presence, though, a psychological shadow looming over me. Tweek is frozen under my hands, but I hold him in place, my fingers massaging gently, calming fruitlessly. "Why are you here now?"

"Ha!" he snorts. "Here, _now? _I've been here the whole time, you fucking idiot. I've been here the whole time… lingering. The locks on crappy motel room doors aren't all _that _hard to pick, you know."

Tweek tugs, and I try to hold onto him, but he's shaking with either fear or rage, and my grip slips just in time for him to stumble backwards. My eyes fly open, expecting to see him topple of the bed, but he stands up easily, his fists—still bloody from pummeling the door earlier—clenched tight, so that his knuckles show bone-white against the rust red.

Craig seems to notice, judging by his next words. "Oh, getting all defensive, are we? _Please. _What're you gonna do to me? You're nothing but a bag of skin and bones, you stupid little bitch."

"Shut _up!_" I've hardly thought the words out before they're in the air—shouted, I notice, much louder than I first intended. My throat burns, and my fingers are wound in the sheet, squeezing it tightly, suffocating the already lifeless fabric. I can't stand this anymore, can't stand to listen to him berate Tweek, over and over, _endlessly. _The blonde boy doesn't deserve a single word of it. "Just shut your fucking _face! _Leave him alone…"

Tweek's shaking his head, slowly, his eyes locked with mine. Though I can't possibly comprehend his intentions, the message gets through easily enough, and I fall silent, chest still rising and falling furiously.

"It's okay…" His voice is oddly cool, detached. "Let me handle this…" Those eyes flicker upwards, and Craig's half-sputtered, indignant snap makes my stomach clench.

"What the fuck are you looking at?"

Silence.

"I said—"

"You," Tweek growls. He sounds like a dog right before it attacks—a low, warning rumble in his throat, threatening, a final chance to back off. But I know that Craig gave away his final chance a long time ago. And, judging by Tweek's tense stance, he's about to pay for it.

"Me?" Craig sounds almost surprised, but Tweek doesn't give him much time to process it. He's whipping around the side of the bed, and I turn hastily, barely able to catch my first glimpse of Craig's hulking figure before Tweek is upon him, his fists attacking the taller boy's face and chest in a surprisingly painful-looking flurry.

"You're a horrible, cheating, lying, unreliable _bastard!_" he shrieks, punctuating each word with a fist to Craig's stomach, shoulder, ribcage, jaw, throat. To my amazement, the brunette sinks after the final punch, stumbling backwards and landing heavily. His midnight eyes glimmer in the darkness, disbelieving as he lifts a pale hand to his chin. It comes away bloody, and more of the crimson liquid is running down the side of his neck from where the skin split.

But Tweek isn't done yet.

"You, you put me through so goddamn _much!_ You make everyone around you suffer, you don't know anything, _anything!_" Now the blood is much more abundant, and the wounds on his fists even seem to have opened up from earlier. After being caught off guard for that split second, Craig's defenses must have collapsed easily, because he's looking amazingly helpless, lying on the ground as Tweek completely destroys him with ferocious punches. I tremble a bit, the desperate need to do _something _twisting my stomach, but there's nothing I can do. I'm torn between helping Tweek and stopping him, and it's unbearable that it should even be a question.

In a moment of silence, where Tweek is catching his breath, eyes still blazing, Craig coughs. It's a tiny thing, a miniscule gesture, but it conveys so much. A bit of blood leaks out of the corner of his mouth, and when he looks up from the floor, eyes shadowed, the first word that strikes me is _pathetic. _Because that's how he looks, right now—pathetic, useless, _desperate. _My lips part slightly to form a word that hasn't yet materialized, and the reason for doing so doesn't hit me until I process that he's directing those navy puppy eyes at _me. _It's like his and Tweek's roles have been reversed. Now, all of a sudden, _he's _the one who needs my protection, who's frantic for it, _begging _silently.

God knows I can't possibly resist.

It doesn't look like I have to try, though. Tweek is blinking, once, twice, and then a rushed "Oh my God" flows from his mouth, the words contained in a single horrified exhalation. "I… I did this," he whispers, eyes flickering first down to his hands, then back up. "Me. I… I did this. I'm… I'm horrible, oh my—I did this… n-no… I'm _sorry!_" He clambers to his feet, shaking over, and before I can do a thing, he's out the door, feet pounding down the hall.

I don't even begin to rise, don't start after him. Even though it's my responsibility, my promise, I can't possibly leave Craig. Not now. It's pathetic of me—traitorous and stupid of me, but I just can't make myself do it. I half-step, half-fall off the bed, making my way over to where he lies on the floor, watching me silently with some awful ghost of a smirk settling over his bloody lips.

"Are you…" I clear my throat, feeling somehow looked down on even though he's several feet below my eye level. "Are you okay? H-he didn't hurt you _that _much… did he…?" I hate this, hate myself for being concerned about _him, _but I can't help it. I just can't fucking help it anymore.

"Does it _look _like he didn't hurt me 'that' much?" Craig rasps, his disbelief almost humored as he managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Another cough works its way out of his throat, and with it comes more blood, staining his dark t-shirt.

"I'm so soft," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "So pathetic. Jesus, I'm so pathetic…"

He watches me warily, dark hair hanging in one eye.

"I'm over you," I tell him, bluntly, directly. "I'm over you. I'm over you, I…" Then it slips, all at once, and I'm shaking my head, groaning, folding onto my knees beside him.

A twisted laugh fills the air, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's my own, as are the furious words that seem to increase the temperature by several degrees. I'm screaming at him. Shouting. "Look at me. _Look _at me! Look at what a fucking _pushover _I am!"

He doesn't seem to be processing my words. Instead, one of his pale hands snakes out, and his fingers hook around my wrist, tightening instantly.

"Help," he whispers.

I choke on nothing, something twisting up inside of me. "I will," I'm saying out of nowhere, "I want to, I _want _to help… tell me how I can help." God, I'm such a _wimp. _Easily throwing aside my own needs for his. Useless, flimsy. "Tell me!"

He doesn't seem to be hearing my words. In fact, he's sinking to the floor, and fog is obscuring his eyes, a dazed mist. It hits me all at once—this is worse, way worse than I thought. My throat seems to tighten, until I can barely get out a halting breath. His fingers on my wrist begin to slacken, and I grip them, sweating slightly, but not daring to even approach letting go.

"Hospital?" I ask, demand. "Do you need a hospital? An ambulance?"

"Can't… blood… lungs," he whispers, eyelids drifting threateningly near closure. I squeeze harder than ever, gritting my teeth.

"Shut up. Shut _up. _You're fine. Craig—no, listen to me, Craig…" I fight with my words, but they're useless, because he's growing limp. And even though I know he's far from death, that he's just losing consciousness, I can't help but feel that it's much more than that. My stomach writhes, but I push its anxiety aside, trying desperately to concentrate on what I can do to help him. Ambulance, that's it. I can call an ambulance. Legal authorities will mean that Tweek and I have to go back to South Park—if I manage to find Tweek—but… oh, fuck it all. Who cares if I have to go back home? All that matters is that Craig is hurt, hurt _bad. _Having to tear myself away from him is agony, but I do it anyways, trying to ignore just how ominous the thud of his now-empty hand to the floor is. My hands are on the telephone, dialing 911, my breath coming so quickly that gray patches flex and dance before my eyes.

_Hold on, Craig, come on. Just hang in there. _

One ring, half of another—

"Fuck," I get out, slamming the receiver down before I can get any farther. What will they do to him if they learn everything he's done? Put him in jail, at the very least. More thoughts flood my fear-crazed mind, images, ridiculous pictures of executions that were probably far from legal but I can somehow fathom anyway—

Footsteps cause me to whip my head around, and when I do, I'm greeted by the sickening sight of Craig standing up easily, leaning against the doorframe and barely holding in a laugh. I can't quite figure out why this horrifies me so much, but I know it does. His name comes out in a squeak.

"Craig?"

"I just needed you to not be on _top _of me," he growls in disgust, making a motion as if to dust off his short-cropped sleeve. "I'm fine, you stupid fag. He punches like a six-year-old girl. Did you really fall for that? You must be even stupider than I remember…"

Stupid, indeed. So fucking _stupid. _Time and time again, he's showed me how screwed up he is, how _heartless, _and what do I do? Immediately jump into defensive, forgiving mode the very _second _that it seems he might be in danger. An idiot. That's all I am. Kenny McCormick, goddamn _idiot. _And now I've endangered Tweek and I—I can tell by Craig's tigrine smirk that he's hardly going to ignore this obvious advantage. And Tweek is out there, alone… with every passing second, it hits me harder and harder just how ridiculous my behavior has been. Really, I _know _that Tweek punches like a girl. How could I… am I really that desperate? That desperate for him to need me?

"But… you were bleeding." I mentally thank my mouth, thank it for having the strength to object, even though my mind fully realized the fact that I had, in fact, been tricked. "Out of your mouth. Coughing it out…"

"That, really? I bit my fucking _tongue. _What, did you really think that it was filling my lungs? Way to _romanticize _things, McCormick."

Pushing aside my last scraps of denial, I murmur my next inquiry in a low voice, standing up slowly. My movements are careful, as if not to surprise him. I don't want him dashing out of the room, but maybe—if I'm very, _very _careful—maybe I'll be able to prevent him from going after Tweek. If I only had a way to get between him and the door… but I'm on the other side of the room, by the phone, and he's right there, able to dart out at the slightest provocation.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, me? I am going to find him," Craig sneers, eyes flashing, "and take him… _far _from you. See ya!" With a jaunty grin, he springs out the door.

"No—_don't!_" I stumble over the bed, dash into the corridor after him. "Don't, you can't—don't you touch him, don't _hurt _him!" I shriek, desperately. My feet pound down at the imitation of a carpet, and I follow his elusive shadow out a side door, the fresh night air greeting me like a slap in the face. The concrete is hard on my bare toes, but I ignore it, even as I feel the skin tear during a particularly harsh skid. My lungs slice back and forth like knives in my chest, pounding, working as hard as I can possibly push them. But he's still faster than me, more in shape, and I'm only getting farther behind.

"Stop!" I scream again.

"Why should I?" he laughs back, his voice making him sound far closer than I really know him to be.

_Damn you!_

"Tweek!" I yell, as loudly as I can. I don't know how far ahead of us he is by now—probably too much so to hear my desperate cry, but that doesn't mean I can't try. My legs scissor harder and harder, but it's a futile effort. "_Tweek! _Run, he's coming, _run!_"

I think I might hear a response, however faint. Perhaps it's just my imagination, but that doesn't stop me from crying out again.

"Run!"

It's too late, though. Practically out of nowhere, there he is—Tweek's staring in confusion, his green eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. I stumble, manage to catch myself just as Craig pulls to a neat stop before me. I can't see him, but I can practically feel the feral grin that I know to be creeping across his face. Tweek's lips move, forming his name—_Craig—_and then the blonde launches himself forward, his skinny arms looping around Craig's neck, his face pressing into his shoulder.

"I—I missed you so _much!_" he wails.

Oh, God, no. Of course. Of _course_, in the end, he wouldn't be strong—in fact, he'd seemingly abandon everything we've worked for, just so that he can fucking be naively happy again. _Tweek, you absolute idiot. _Doesn't he _know _by now that Craig is no good for him? Doesn't he realize that? My throat seals up, and I suddenly feel exhausted, defeated.

"Don't trust him, you idiot," I whisper, tears burning in my eyes and chest. I can't believe this. I really can't. I thought that we were getting somewhere, thought that, finally, we'd be able to fight against him, together, as a team. But as soon as that damned siren of a kid shows up again, Tweek's right over on the dark side again. Fucking hell.

"Hey, baby," Craig murmurs, his voice a low rasp, "I need to talk to this jerk for a second. Could you wait over there, maybe?"

My breath hitches up behind my collarbone, and my eyes widen in disbelief as Tweek nods and trots off, lingering along the sidewalk. When Craig waves him along, he makes his way to the other side of the road that I never even realized we crossed. Our surroundings slowly come into place—we seem to be on the edge of some sort of forest, the motel's lights shining dark amber on the asphalt separating us from civilization. It's almost beautiful, in a quiet, eerie way.

I don't have long to savor it, though, because before I can so much as blink, there's a hand around my throat suddenly, I'm being whipped up and pinned against the thick trunk of a tree. The rough bark scraped at my back, and I choke, my feet scuffling helplessly along the ground. Craig leans in close, sneering, his eyes glinting dangerously. A small, pathetic squeak works its way out of my lips, and I shake my head slightly, unable to convey my desperation any other way.

"What's your _problem?_" he snarls. "You don't still think you're something special, do you? Look at me. Look at _us. _As soon as I'm back, even after everything, he falls for me again. Instantly! He leaves you at the _blink of an eye!_"

Slowly, the truth begins to form in my oxygen-deprived mind as I realize just what Craig walked in on back at the motel. He's _jealous. _He thinks I'm taking Tweek away from him, and this, this insane anger—it's how he reassures himself otherwise.

"Then if it's going to be you and him, if there's nothing I can do about it…" I whisper, the words barely audible since I have so little air with which to utter them. "That's okay, I want him to be happy, I want _you _to be happy, but—but… Craig, for me—no, for _him, _will you do this… will you treat him like he deserves? Will you stop hurting him… please, _please_…?"

"Maybe," he murmurs, but I can tell he's not taking in a single word. He's not even meeting my eyes. I open my mouth again, ready to spit out insistencies that he do as I say, but my words are blocked, because he's suddenly kissing me—if this can be called kissing. It doesn't feel like kissing, more like smothering, but, damn, it works. My eyelids slump shut, and I stop resisting his suffocating hold for a moment, just taking in his taste, my back sliding down the tree trunk, bark scraping it painfully. My fingers scrabble against it, seeking for a grip that I know I don't truly desire. I don't know where this came from, and I can't get a single breath of air into my lungs—things are going a bit wobbly, but fuck, I just want it to keep coming, this is like a drug, his tongue is soft and warm and his teeth hard and cold and his lips, they're just exquisite and forbidden and wonderful and—

He pulls away, suddenly, leaving me gasping and half-fallen, his grip on my throat the only thing holding me up. "You liked that, didn't you?" I barely catch his words, because my brain is throbbing, my whole body pulsating with confusion and fear. "You're just as vulnerable as him… don't try to talk your twisted version of sense into me, McCormick. You see what it's like, for him. You understand how he enjoys it. He's even easier to take in than you. Now leave it be. Just leave us alone."

"No," I hiss, my voice slurred and my eyes streaming. "I—I won't."

His sleek purr of a voice morphs suddenly into a dangerous growl. "Oh, you won't, will you?"

"N-no," I stammer back. "I won't, because…" _Why? Why won't I? _Then Tweek's face—his smile, that one, tiny hopeful smile from back at the hotel, flashes in my mind suddenly, and I know. I know why. "I don't understand these things, not completely, but… I know that… whatever, I don't know, I don't _care, _because all that matters is that—whether it's romantic or platonic or whatever—I love him, okay?"

I don't have time to so much as feel pride in the daring of my words, because everything flashes bright red out of nowhere. It takes what seems like a ridiculously delayed time for the pain to catch up with me, and then I realize that I'm on the ground, curled up, and that blood is pouring from my nose. I groan, a slow, drawn-out noise, and raise a hand to my face, clutching at it. White light dances teasingly in front of my eyes, clearing up in time for me to see Craig's dark figure lurking over me. Scattered footsteps come as if from a long way off, and then Tweek's standing next to him, clutching at his arm, begging him to stop—but there's nothing to stop. Craig's not doing anything, just staring at me, his hands curled into fists, looking pale and almost _scared. _

"You…" he whispers, his tone hollow.

"Yeah," I spit, wincing as a rivulet of blood runs in my eye. I don't bother to push aside the ragged scraps of my hair that are partially obscuring my view of him, just stare through the fluctuating shadows. A faint buzzing has started up in the back of my head, and I give it a slight shake, but it only increases if anything. Things seem wobbly. "Yeah, I said that I care about him. What are you going to do? Kill me? Because that won't do a thing. Not one single fucking thing."

Even if he doesn't seem to appreciate the literal meaning of my snarled words, I think Craig gets the point. His breathing is heavy, and I hear his voice, as if from underwater—sending Tweek back to the motel, reinforcing his words with what sounds like a sharp slap when they're initially ignored. Tweek's cry of pain cuts through the haze that's wrapped itself around me, but I can't do anything, just groan faintly and slump a little farther onto the ground. A single blade of grass cleaving the air before my eyes comes into sudden focus, and I find myself enraptured by its slim perfection, unable to concentrate on anything else as my senses fade in and out. The pain is a background constant. Damn, it hurts. Craig punches a whole hell of a lot better than Tweek, that's for fucking sure.

There are scuffling noises as Tweek darts off—but not towards the motel. In fact, he's slipping away into the woods, leaving me here, with Craig. He begins to head away, too, and I exhale slowly, unsure whether the action is fueled by relief or desperation.

"Just going to leave me here, then?" I croak.

He whirls around. "No," he growls suddenly, "I can't risk that."

For one tiny, amazing moment, my chest seems to physically lift with an emotion somewhat akin to delight. Is he really turning? Did Tweek and I finally manage to reach him, to break through the government experiment-crafted barrier and reach the Craig Tucker that we remember—the cruel but not entirely merciless Craig that we'd grown up with?

"If some creeper comes by and you give him my name… nah. I'm going to take you into the woods." His mouth is suddenly brushing up against my ear, sending chills down my spine. I can't quite figure out how he got there, and I'm not sure I want to, either. "And then I am going to leave you there to bleed, where no one will ever, ever find you."

"No," I whisper, but he just laughs in response, a soft, velvety noise that shows he's nowhere near changing his mind. Everything tilts suddenly, and it takes my lagging brain several moments to realize that he's picking me up, swinging me over his shoulder. Things are upside down, and moving by fast, and my head is hitting his legs repeatedly. A small moan escapes my lips, but I don't hear or feel any response from Craig. My mind is getting more and more muddled and confused, especially as the last bits of streetlights' gleam disappear behind the thick branches that are starting to surround us. A sick, primal fear is beginning to gnaw in my stomach like acid. I'm in the woods past midnight with an insane rapist, on what seems to be the very edge of anything resembling a city, hardly able to function, with a hell of a lot of blood pouring out of what I'm starting to guess is a broken nose.

"Craig… please," I gasp.

He doesn't respond in any way but to loosen his grip on my legs. I choke as the air whooshes past me, then hit the ground sickeningly hard. It's a numb agony that grips me, though, and it vaguely flits across my thoughts that I'm not really feeling anything anymore. Then my mind itself melts away, and everything is gone.


	10. TEN

**A/N** _This chapter is basically love triangle angst nonsense. What am I saying, that's what this whole fic is. XD Enjoy, please review!__  
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**Thanks to** _SparklesMakeMeHappy and Raven Child2__  
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**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

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**TEN**

I become aware of things again all at once—one moment I'm completely out, and the next I can feel everything from the damp leaves under my cheek to the gentle touch of sunlight brushing my shoulders. My whole body feels sore, and my jaw is numb and swollen, as I can tell without even touching it. Afraid to disturb any bit of myself and therefore cause more pain, I instead settle for opening my eyes, flickering them up and down to process my surroundings.

It is indeed morning, and a rather pretty one, as they go, with rays of sunshine drifting through the lazily waving treetops. All I can see wherever I look is the woods, so Craig must have taken us even farther away from the edge of the forest than it felt like. Still, at least I'm alive, so there's some chance that I'll be able to find my way back. If only Tweek made it… because I can't be sure if he did, that's the problem. He could be wandering, lost… after he ran off, who knows where he got to?

"And look who's awake!"

I jump unwillingly, disturbing the mound of leaves that I'm lying awkwardly on. It's only then that I realize I'm wearing something—a tight-fitting T-shirt that I certainly don't recollect putting on the night before. It's a bit loose on me, clearly made for someone with better musculature, but still seems to fit well enough. Dried blood covers it around the neckline, which I can assume came from the injury that still hurts like hell.

It's not a long step to figure out where the garment came from.

I consider thanking Craig as I sit up slowly, dragging myself around to face him, then decide against it. He may have done this one thing for me, but that hardly means he deserves my gratitude. If not for him, we wouldn't be in this awful mess in the first place, but rather back home, perhaps not in the best of situations but at least under a roof.

"It's been a long time," I observe, squinting upwards into the treetops. Based on the sun's approximate position, it's probably around nine or ten. Several hours, then. I tilt my chin down again to glare suspiciously at Craig, or at least imitate the expression as best I can with half of my face bruised and bloody. "Why are you still here?"

As my eyes finally reach full focus, I get my first decent glimpse of him. He's sitting on a tree root, hunched over, his elbows on his knees and his hair hanging in his face. His sweater is zipped up, but I can tell there's nothing under it—this is indeed his shirt that I'm wearing, then. He looks a lot more innocent than usual, almost like a normal guy, his face neutral and his eyes wide and a lighter blue than I'm used to. Like any handsome teenage guy hanging out in the woods—a quiet, shy one, even.

"I… no reason. I should go. I should find him," he says half to himself, looking down. I straighten my posture, staring hard at him. We're a few yards of amber leaves apart, and the odd thing is that this feels like the closest to a normal conversation I've had since this whole fiasco began.

"You should," I agree cautiously. He seems like he might actually be in control, beyond the government-formed personality supposedly implanted in him, but I don't want to take any chances with vocal tone or the like. This is a delicate balance, and I can't afford to screw it up.

"Yeah…"

I lean back against the tree trunk with a long sigh, closing my eyes for a second. Everything just feels so _pleasant. _I don't want to have to think about Tweek right now, but it's unavoidable, as much as I might wish to deny such. Maybe I should just abandon pretense and ask Craig whether or not he's himself right now. That would make things easier, anyhow. I lift a hand to my face cautiously, stroke the injured part. I can't feel a thing from my fingers. Really swollen, then. Fuck.

Shuffling footsteps stir me from my reverie, and I glance over just in time to see Craig's retreating back vanish into the trees. My stomach jerks, and before I can think, I'm on my feet. _Shit, shit, shit. _"Craig?" I call out, testing, but I neither expect nor receive an answer. I start off in the direction that I saw him go, but my legs ache like hell, and I end up stumbling, thrusting a hand out and gripping a random low tree branch for support. Okay, so I'm in bad shape. _Really _bad shape, apparently. Only to be expected after the last couple of days, but… ugh.

_Think. Just keep moving. Call out to him, maybe he'll come to you._

"Tweek!" I shout, managing to make it a bit farther. "Tweek, where are you?" Of course, it's probably too much to expect that he's still in the woods, anyways. Hell, he could be anywhere. It's been hours, there's no way the skittish little guy would have hung around in the creepy night forest. But Craig probably knows exactly where he's going… who knows what happened when I was out? Maybe he even found Tweek already, subdued him somehow and has him waiting…

_No, no, think positive, idiot. _I can't afford to let negative scenarios poison my mind, not right now. "Tweek," I try again, my voice cracking unwillingly this time. I swallow, trying to soothe the dryness to little effect. I haven't had a drink in at least ten hours—I must be really fucking dehydrated at this point. Just, you know, in case I didn't have _enough _goddamn problems.

"Kenny!"

His voice is such a relief that I actually gasp, stumbling to a halt before quickly resuming my trek at twice the pace of before. It was coming from the direction that I've already been walking, so that's something. I'm doing the right thing, going the right place. Of course, Craig probably heard that, too, but—well, I just have to hope—hope _hard—_that I can reach him first.

"Tweek, I'm coming!" I yell as loud as I can. A bird takes off noisily from a tree several yards away from me, flapping at my disturbance. _It's your own damn fault for making a nest there, _I think vaguely, limping my way closer. "Can you keep calling to me?"

"Yeah… I'm coming, too, I'm—"

Adrenaline begins to throb through my veins the instant his voice is unnaturally cut off. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. _There's only one explanation for this—Craig must have reached him. I begin to move faster, even as pain shoots through the muscles of my legs. I have to find him. I have to. _Please, please… _the silence is ominous, horribly ominous, like the bare pause in a horror movie before everything explodes in blood and fire and screams.

His voice cuts through the emptiness, suddenly.

"_Get the fuck away from me!_"

"Oh, God," I choke, not even processing the words until they're out of my mouth. "Tweek, Tweek… _Tweek!_" I yell as loudly as my scratchy throat will permit, but there's nothing else. Faster… faster… the leaves are slipping under my feet, and I'm airborne for a moment before crashing into the ground, yelping as the air is knocked out of my lungs by my misstep. Breathing heavily, I look up—and there they are.

I seem to have fallen into a small clearing in the trees, stained with dollops of sunshine that don't at all match the mood gripping my chest. Craig is grinning darkly, holding Tweek up by the back of the shirt, everything about him indicative of a hungry predator. And Tweek himself… just meeting his eyes makes my heart feel like my heart's quite literally shattering. For once, he isn't crying, Instead, his stare is dark, resigned, almost apologetic.

_I trusted you, _it says. _I trusted you, and look at us both now._

"I… found you," I get out, spitting the words towards Craig even though he's across the space from me. He stares back, his greedy expression morphing into one of passive boredom. To my surprise, he lets Tweek go, and the blonde scampers sideways with a small squeak—but not towards me, just out of the space between us, clinging to a small sapling with both of his arms and watching Craig and I silently, shivering. It suddenly hits me that maybe he doesn't even trust me enough to come and stand by my side—I suppose I deserve as much, after leaving him alone in the woods all night.

_I'm sorry…_

"And why are _you _here?" Craig sneers.

"I came to take him back," I breathe, hoping that Tweek can hear everything in my voice that I want him to, praying that he can understand how much I need him to give me another chance. I came all this way for him—if it was up to me, I could just leave now, but I'm not. I'm staying for him, and I can only hope that he understands that.

"How?" Craig asks, raising a dark eyebrow calmly and crossing his arms. "It's not like you're in any condition to fight me."

I stare at him imploringly, searching for any trace of the shyer, quieter Craig Tucker that had been so visible mere minutes ago. He's made of stone, though, without a single crack in his smooth black defenses. Like obsidian, that rock we learned about in science a couple of years back. I hadn't paid much attention in the stupid unit, of course, but obsidian had intrigued me—perfectly sleek, coal-dark rock made of cooled lava. That was what Craig was, really. A blazing, simmering creature that somehow managed to contain itself into the equivalent of black ice.

"But not only that," he continues, a new element creeping into his voice. He sounds almost… _humored. _"Not only that—Tweek also _wants _me to stay. He's mine. He's always been mine. And he'll tell you himself, won't you, Tweekers?"

Tweek flinches as though physically hit, and I can see his lungs convulse with pain under the thin cover of my own parka, see his eyes flash. But then, as I watch, the fire dims, and his head hangs, looking almost resigned. Disbelief begins to sink my stomach. Is it possible… is he actually… is he thinking that Craig is _right? _Is he going to listen to the insane idiot and… I can't even think. This is too much. Just too much.

There's no _way._

Is there?

"You know what?" I ask suddenly, and my voice comes out easier than it has since I started running, probably because my thinking has become as clear as a frozen mountain stream, and just as chilled. "You tell me, Tweek. It's your choice. I can leave right now, if you want me to. And I will… easily. Because, honestly, I'm sick of this. All of this. I do so much for you, I try so hard, and then…" The words are spilling out, and I can't even imagine trying to stop them. "And then as soon as he comes, it's like I never existed. I'm fucking_ sick _of it. So go on. Make your choice. It's him or me, okay? And I don't mean that like some fucking stupid Barbie movie. So dramatic, the princess has to pick her suitor…" My hands wave mockingly, then drop all at once. "None of that shit. It's like this—you can have him, your fucking _rapist _boyfriend who treats you like horseshit, or you can have me. And I'll help you. I'll make sure that we stay save. But, of course… it's your choice."

"Wait," Tweek half-screams, a loud bolt of noise that causes me to start slightly and straighten up immediately. "Just… just wait, okay? Kenny…" He sinks down slowly, fingers still tight on the trunk of his little maple tree. "Listen to me, just listen for a moment. Do you know… do you have any idea… what it's like to be in love? I mean, like, your parents, your dad, your mom… I've seen them, obviously, walking around town and stuff, and… your dad hits your mom. He _hits _her!"

Something inside me twists at the words. I know them, know the truth in them, of course I do. God knows how many times I've been kept up late at night with my door locked, trying not to think about the yells and crashes coming from the kitchen, easily till three a.m.…

"But she puts up with it. She puts up with it because _she loves him! _And she knows, deep down… even if it's too deep to comprehend… she knows that he loves her, too." His voice is soft, cracked, utterly broken.

I'm not sure why I laugh—maybe I just can't bear to think that I'm starting to understand him. Because, in all honesty, the thought of him leaving me is… I hate it. Even though it would save me, even though I could go home or even wander off on my own, unhindered by all this shit, I can't stand the prospect.

"Don't laugh," Tweek snaps, soft at first before flaring up. "Don't fucking _laugh! _I'm serious!"

"I don't know if you could call that _love,_" I spit contemptuously. "If you knew them… if you lived with them… she puts up with him only because she has nowhere else to go. But you _do, _you have somewhere to go, I'm _offering _it to you! If you love someone…" Craig's eyes, which I didn't realize I was staring into, burn viciously, but I don't falter, instead yell the next words, hoping that they hit him hard enough to have a real impact. "You don't _hurt _them!"

"I wasn't done," Tweek says quietly, his tone dampened to a steady growl.

"Go on, then!" I cry wildly, wheeling around to face him. I can tell that my eyes are wide, feel an insane grimace twisting the numb skin of my jaw, but I don't try to calm down, because I just can't fucking bear it anymore. The two of them deserve any fury that comes their way—_both _of them deserve it, because they're both backstabbing assholes, in the end. Just backstabbing assholes. Like my "friends," Stan and Kyle and Cartman, like every other kid and adult in the goddamn city that I finally thought I'd escaped from. Apparently not. "What…" I begin slowly, then shake my head, practically unable to get the words out through the impossibly thick layer of sarcastic incredulity pulling at my lips. "…Could you _possibly _say to fix them now?"

"Nothing. Nothing, because you won't _listen _to me. I'll just tell you what you want to hear, and, as it would seem, that is _nothing! _What the _fuck _do you _want _me to say?" he shrieks.

Craig raises an eyebrow as I stare, speechless. "Well," the darker boy murmurs in an almost surprised tone, "here I was expecting you to talk to _me_ like that… has something happened between you two that I don't…?"

I'm tired, suddenly. Exhausted. Too damn sick of it all to answer Craig's question, to try and argue back with Tweek, to do anything but what I choose to. "Fine. I'm leaving." The words are a sort of release, letting myself go as well as him, and I'm already stepping away before I bother to repeat myself, only slightly louder this time. "Alright, Tweek? Right now. I'll leave. I'll leave you with _him, _the one you're so in love with, and then we can all be happy."

His lips frame a single word—I think it might be _no, _but I'm not allowing myself to imagine anything like that.

Craig doesn't seem at all fazed by my declaration, though. On the contrary, he's scowling slightly, glancing back and forth between us. "What did you two do? What are you… what did you do that I didn't know about? What did you say to each other when I wasn't there?" He sounds scared, almost, like a confused child. That's all he is, really. That's all any of us are. Kids who don't understand what the fuck is happening to them.

"What happened?" Craig repeats, and his voice is no longer playful, but absolutely deadly.

"Nothing happened," I hiss, hesitating at the very edge of the trees. I'm not sure what's holding me back, really. "Nothing whatsoever. He's my friend and I love him for that, and I already told you all of this. You shouldn't be surprised. Really, is it that shocking that people who aren't constantly fucking can still _give _a shit about each other? Can still care?"

His jaw is clenched abnormally tight, and a vein in his neck pulses, his eyes widening as if he can't stand my words. And it's true—he's actually jealous of _friendship. _If friendship is what Tweek and I have, that is. At this point, all I can really see it as is a bond—not really romantic, not really platonic, just a _bond _that couldn't possibly not be present after all the shit that we've been through together. We're connected… and it strikes me just then how idiotic I was being to think that I could break it just by walking away. I can't. Of course I can't. It goes way deeper than me physically staying around to help him out—even if I left, he'd still find me, still track me down—perhaps not physically, but he would. I'm stuck with Tweek whether or not we like it.

"I'll tell you what we did," Tweek speaks up suddenly. "I told him that I liked him."

"What?" Craig yelps, as if stung.

"That's right. I liked him. I _like _him. And that hurts, doesn't it?" he continues, straightening up to face Craig fully. "That hurts because—and you know this, so don't act like you don't—I've never said that to you. Never. I've told you I love you a thousand times, but have I ever said I liked you, just _liked _you for who you are? _Once?_"

Craig stares blankly.

"And I think he likes me, too… I mean, I obviously can't speak _for _him, but I really think he does… and that's what makes a _real _relationship. It's not all about sex. It's never all about sex, okay? Why can't you ever grasp that? Kenny knows, though… Kenny _understands…_" His voice cracks.

Without thinking, I suddenly dart forward, reaching Tweek and looping an arm around his waist, pulling him close as my free hand reaches up and snaps a branch a little less than an inch thick off of the maple sapling. I flip it around in my hand, pointing the jagged end towards Craig and breathing heavily, feeling Tweek's heartbeat like a frantic bird against my chest.

"Don't try anything," I snarl.

"Dude… that's a _stick,_" Craig comments, raising an eyebrow. For a moment, I feel utterly idiotic. _Why, yes, I have chosen to arm myself with a twig. Go on, attack me. Look how absolutely defended I am._

"A branch," I grumble back, then my voice strengthens. "Don't doubt that it can hurt you."

"Hurt me? I'm sure it can. But this… this can kill you." His hand dips into his sweater, and it comes out with a gun, gleaming darkly—I recognize it from the night with the police officer. My insides go cold, and I exhale slowly, letting my pent-up energy flow out as the branch slips from my hand, crashing into the leaves carpeting the ground.

"Alright. Fine," I say openly, "fine. Go on, then… let's see you shoot me." I push myself in front of Tweek, forcing his protesting form back, so that my larger one covers it up. I feel oddly detached from what I'm doing, even knowing that it could cost my life—well, not my life, but at least my chance to save Tweek. I don't think Craig will shoot me, even twisted as he might be by external forces. I can still remember the look in his eyes when I woke up mere minutes ago, the realization that he'd waited by my side all night. Somehow, stupidly, impossibly, I trusted him.

"No!" Tweek screams, and I actually have to grip his arms, keeping them behind me as a slow smile poisons Craig's face. "No, you idiot, you don't realize what you're doing, you—he'll shoot you, he _will, _you don't know him, he won't take chances, Kenny, _please!_"

"Will you?" I challenge Craig quietly, and Tweek's words shift into soft whimpers as he presses his face into my shoulders, quaking. "Will you really kill me? Go ahead. You'll get the pleasure of seeing my body drop. That's what you want, right? Tweek all to yourself? Go ahead. You can have him. All you have to do is kill me first."

"Watch me," Craig spits.

He doesn't fire, though. His finger is there on the trigger, and the weapon is aimed steadily at my heart, but there's something that causes him to hesitate, give his actions another moment of thought—for an instant, I think I can see the real him somewhere in the depths of his eyes. And that's all the time I need—ripping myself away from Tweek, I lunge forward, tackling Craig to the ground and slipping to the side as the gun goes off, firing somewhere into the trees. Tweek yelps and Craig huffs, but I stay silent, struggling for a few seconds before managing to pin him triumphantly down, pushing the side of his face into the wet leaves. My knees are on his chest, one hand wound in his hair and the other gripping his shoulder, prepared to pull if he begins resisting. He's oddly compliant, though, not so much as struggling, but rather lying there, watching me through heavily lidded eyes as though only mildly interested. He doesn't speak, only tilts his head slightly, paying no regard to the fact that it must hurt like hell to have his hair gripped like that, and keeps staring, his irises wide and dark. The gun drops from his hand and lies on the ground, looking much smaller when he's not gripping it.

"You fucking _idiot!_" Tweek wails, shoving at me furiously. Somehow, his move is shocking enough to result in me actually slipping off of Craig, ending up on the ground next to him. I expect the dark-haired boy to spring up instantly, but he stays in place, watching us evenly.

"He's not going to _hurt _me!" I explain, unable to keep a bit of incredulity out of my voice. "Tweek, look at him! He wouldn't murder someone—he may be stupid, but he's too _weak _to go that far. Too damn weak."

"You bastard…" Tweek whispers. "Yes, he would, of _course _he would, you saw that he fired that gun! It just didn't happen to touch you! You really think… you think you know him, but you _don't. _You know _nothing. _Stop… stop taking advantage of him…"

"Cut it out," I snap, beginning to get more than a little annoyed. "Seriously, _look _at him. The fucking gun is right there, and he's not even making a _move _for it! Because under it all, he's nothing but a big fucking _pussy!_"

"_Stop it! _Stop taunting him, you _bastard… _you're just like him, did you know that? _Just like him!_"

That's enough for his words to actually reach me. I freeze, my eyes widening, and Craig slips from my mind, so that I'm just staring at Tweek, who's crouched a couple of feet away from me, glaring, his chest heaving and his face not displaying a single trace of regret.

"How the hell am I like _him?_" I choke. "I… I'd never do anything as awful to you as he has… I'm… better than that…"

"Better than that, really?" Tweek half-laughs, his voice more than a little crazed. "Then what's _that? _Why is he lying on the ground? Because you fucking _pounced _on him, that's why. Because you took advantage of the moment—the moment that might have meant you were going to survive… he was _second-guessing _what he was about to do, idiot, he was _hesitating, _and then what did you take that opportunity to do? Fucking attack him! You hurt him in his single second of vulnerability? Remind you of anyone? Does it?"

I don't know what to say, so I don't even begin to try. Because, as much as I might wish otherwise, I know exactly what he means. How can't I, after he made it so obvious to me? He's right… Tweek's right. There really is nothing that makes me better than Craig, not at this point. I suddenly want to run, run as far away as I can, but I've changed my mind enough times. Even if staying with Craig and Tweek is the wrong choice, it's still the one I've made, and I'm not going to revoke it for anything. I breathe in slowly, trying futilely to calm myself down. We can't do this anymore, can't stay in the woods like this, so I reach out, take the gun and stand up slowly. My legs are quivering, a fact that I try to ignore.

"What… what are you doing?" Tweek asks, a layer of caution returned to his voice.

I don't answer, but rather turn around and throw the repulsive thing into the woods, as far as I can, gritting my teeth with satisfaction when it crashes through the branches of several trees before landing somewhere obscured by all measure of bushes and undergrowth. A rustle sounds behind me, and Tweek and I both look back just in time to see Craig stumble to his feet. In a sort of silent agreement, neither of us make any move to stop him as he darts away, looking like a frightened wild animal. It's amazing how much more helpless he really is without his weapon—there's no reluctance at all in the absolutely cowardly movement as he slinks back into the shadows of the forest, leaving Tweek and I in the coldly sunny clearing.

"There he goes," Tweek muses. "You… let him, again."

"Yeah," I agree, the word oddly nice in my mouth. I glance towards Tweek, and a tiny smile quirks the corner of my mouth. "I suppose I did."

"Was that the… the right thing to do?" We're both acting like he hadn't just exploded at me, though there's a certain tension to the exchange. "I mean… I… he might not be… as strong as we think sometimes, but… he's going to come back, and… he's probably not going to be very happy when he does."

"Probably furious."

"Raging."

"Manic."

"Psychotic."

"Pretty much, yeah." The smile on my face widens, and I hold it there for a second, just taking in the amazing sensation of having something to be genuinely happy about—though I can't claim to be able to identify exactly what that something is at this point, it still feels great. I can't figure out whether the decision to let Craig go was incredibly smart or incredibly stupid, but either way, it's done, and Tweek doesn't seem too perturbed by it.

"You know, though," I go on, "it's… kind of good, in a way, to know that he's… still out there."

"You're fucking kidding me. You've got to be."

"Well… I suppose it's just that… I'm not really ready to be done with all this, not yet." I only process the words as I speak them, so that I'm coming to terms with these things myself as they come out. "I… enjoy it—I mean, it's scary, it's insane, I'm starving half to death and my sleeping is off and shit, but… basically… I guess I like spending the time with you," I finally admit, amazed that my cheeks actually tingle with what might be a blush. "It's… nice, really nice… I mean… I guess, in a way, I'm sort of… happy. So… thank you. And after all this is over, will you… still spend time with me?"

"I…" Tweek hesitates for a moment, green eyes wide, looking uncertain. Then he nods, first tentative, then vigorous. "Yeah, I will. Of course I will. I mean… when I said that I liked you, I meant it. It's not just because of… limited selection or whatever."

I laugh lightly, and nod along with him, then tuck my hands slowly into my jeans pockets, disregarding the fact that I'm still wearing Craig's shirt. Suddenly, the sun doesn't seem so mocking. Tweek stands up next to me with a small sigh, then speaks again.

"So, you said you were hungry… do you want to get something to eat? I'm sure that Chuck's got something at the motel…"

"As long as you don't pay him in the same way," I interject seriously.

"What, you jealous?" Tweek smirks as his eyes glimmer, and his words are so casual that I hardly even realize it's the first lighthearted, even teasing thing that he's said… well, ever, as far as I know. Maybe this is the way he acted around Craig, before…

Well, that doesn't matter. Because it's the way that he's acting around _me _now, and nothing else is important, not really.

"Maybe I am," I reply smoothly, only half-joking.


	11. ELEVEN

**A/N** _We finally get some material Twenny this time around! I'm sure this'll be good news for some of you and bad for others, but oh well. I hope you enjoy the chapter, reviews are as appreciated as always~ Also, we're on the third leg of this fifteen-chapter fic now. Only four more after this, which is probably fewer than it sounds like XD__  
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**Thanks to** _HarvardDropout__  
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**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

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**ELEVEN**

Even if I'm not sure what the relationship between Tweek and I is at this point, I can't deny that we're acting more like a couple than anything else. There's not really anything in the particular actions that we do—it's more the dynamic between us, the invisible connection that shows only in the occasional glance or slight smile. And it somehow manages to be a domestic way in which he flops on the bed as soon as we've gotten something to eat from Chuck at the motel and returned to our room, turning onto his back and watching me with his hands folded behind his head. I gaze back, leaning against the wall and glancing over towards the window, through which thin streams of sugary sunlight are floating.

"Tired?" I ask.

"…Not really… you?"

"Exhausted, but not sleepy," I explain honestly. It's true. More mental exhaustion than physical, though. My body is actually surprisingly well-rested, considering how beat up it is—then again, it is true that I spent several hours of the night 'sleeping,' so to speak, so I guess it makes sense on some level. The thought of the injuries sustained the previous night brings my hand to my jaw again, brushing along it nervously. At least I can feel my own touch this time. Signaling to Tweek that I'll be right back, I step into the tiny bathroom, considering my wound in the mirror. It looks simultaneously better and worse than I expected—my hair is sticking to my cheek with dried blood, while a rather spectacularly shiny violet bruise is shadowing most of the lower part of my face, half of a black eye teasing at the left side. Still, the swelling seems to have gone down almost entirely, which is nice. I give it an experimental stretch, and my teeth gleam in the glass in a lopsided sort of half-smile. I swing my arms back and forth, taking a deep breath, then stride back into the room, where Tweek has pulled himself into a sitting position on the bed, arms wrapped around his legs and chin resting on his knees.

"You alright?" I ask, noticing his rather forlorn gaze out the window.

"Yeah… fine." He nods glumly to himself. "Just… lonely, I guess."

"I'm here," I point out, feeling oddly exposed as I stand there in the doorway in my three-day jeans and Craig's baggy, sweat-stained top. "You don't have to be lonely… I'm here, right?" I offer a nervous half-smile, but his dark-eyed stare, when turned on me, quenches it instantly.

"You're not like him," he says quietly, simply. He doesn't even try to spare my feelings, and I won't deny that the cold declaration is a bit of a stab to my chest and stomach. "You… you're the one I'm with… I care about you, of course I do, but… you're not to me what he was… nobody is… chances are that nobody ever will be…"

"I can be if you want me to."

I don't know where the fuck the words come from, but then they're out in the air, almost flirty, and I feel like an absolute ass for ever letting myself say them. I know that I'm no Craig, that I never have been and never will be, and offering myself like this, as a… _substitution _is beyond disgusting. It's _mean. _"Sorry," I add quickly, looking away and hating myself silently.

"No, it's… fine," he mumbles. I hesitate, waiting for a farther explanation, but he doesn't react, just shifts his gaze to the window again. The sunlight illuminates his face, casting the ever-present shadows under his eyes into even sharper than relief and painting spiky shadows across his neck, under the rat's nest of his hair. Without letting myself think, I slowly sit down on the bed beside him, reaching a hand up and tentatively running my hand through the greasy strands. He stiffens slightly, but otherwise doesn't react. I can't be sure if this is a good or bad indication, so I hesitate, then gradually proceed.

It really is tangled into all matter of knots, a rather impressive feat considering that it's no more than chin-length. I comb through gradually, though, separating each tight clump, finally managing to straighten it out into its usual messy but straight state several minutes later. It's a calming, almost therapeutic process, and by the end, I have an odd sense of accomplishment. Squeezing his shoulder, which has slackened quite a bit since I began untangling his hair, I make to get off the bed, but his soft voice halts me.

"…Wait."

"Hm?"

"Just… wait for a moment," he requests, and I shrug, having no reason to protest. I sit back for a few seconds, my hands splayed on the bedspread, letting the sun warm me. After a while, Tweek speaks up—about Craig, of course. Something inside of me clenches with annoyance and almost disappointment that he'd choose such a subject, but in all honesty, I really can't blame him. There's nothing else on either of our minds, after all, as hard as I might wish. "You're so alike… you and him."

"I don't want to be."

"And you don't realize you are… but I've gotten to know you well, Kenny, and him… I mean, obviously I have a clearer idea of who he really is than most people… I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I mean… you know how much I… love him…"

I glance up under the cover of my hair, biting at the corner of my lip. I can't tell if he's suggesting something or just mentioning the fact in passing, and I really don't want to risk making an assumption. "I'm glad you can like me, too," I finally improvise, knowing that neither of us miss the slightly awkward verb change. "Lots of people don't manage that, after all. I can get girls wherever the hell I want, but… well, they don't know me. Just think I have a hot body or whatever." I spit out a single sharp bolt of bitter laughter.

"Well… you kind of do," Tweek murmurs, and I straighten up in surprise, feeling an unexpected flush surge across my face.

"Thanks," I half-stammer. It crosses my mind just then exactly how meaningful that word is, and I go on, gaining momentum as I speak. "Thanks for… well… for everything. For not chasing after him… for staying with me… that… well, it means a lot."

"I'm gonna be honest," Tweek sighs. "It was really hard _not _to chase him. I want him…" His voice grows vague, distant. "I want it to be like it used to, back to normal, where he'd come into my room every night at three and get into bed with me… it would help me sleep better…"

My breath catches, and I can't help but watch with a quiet sort of fascination as he goes on, staring into the mild morning sky, his lips moving slowly and almost automatically. "He you used to do that, y'know… well, I suppose you don't know. I always assumed that it was the peak of his dad's drunkenness or something—three in the morning, I mean. Sometimes he'd want sex—if it was a particularly hard night, I kind of assumed; those did tend to be the times when he seemed most beat up—but it was mostly just… well… cuddling. There were a lot of nights when we didn't even talk. Still, I'd wake up every night at three—try to get asleep by midnight, but it would be restless. Then, as soon as he came… the next four, five hours were perfect, undisrupted, just… yeah… and he's gone now… I just have to face the fact that I'm never going to be able to see him again, not the real him… but you can't blame me, can you?" His voice turns pleading as he turns to face me, eyes wide and desperate. "I—I know that I'm stupid for it, but if it was someone you really loved, someone you cared about and _had _cared about for most of your life… it wouldn't be all that easy to let go…"

"Definitely not," I agree quietly. "Far from it… but… if there's anything I can do, _anything _at all to make it better, please let me know. I don't like it, seeing you all… torn up… I want you to be happy. If that's possible… I really, really want you to be happy. So just let me know. If I can help, that is. Please let me know…"

His pine-hued eyes gleam suddenly, and his chin ducks in a small nod. "There is. Y-you can… you can help."

"Just tell me how," I say without hesitation.

He bites back words at the last moment, shaking his head. I lean forward slightly, concerned, ready to tell him that anything is alright, nothing is too big of a demand, I'm willing for whatever he wants me to—

My thoughts are effectively cut off when he kisses me.

It takes instants to adjust; a full second hasn't passed before I'm gently moving into a more comfortable position on the bed, slipping one hand behind his neck to cup his head and moving the other to the small of his back—not squeezing, barely even pressing, just holding it there as lightly as I can. His breath comes out in a cool, sighing stream between his lips, and I kiss him the tiniest bit harder, not using tongue, not using teeth, just pressing my lips against his and feeling their softness.

It's fucking amazing.

I've got no idea how many people I've made out with over the course of my life—lost count a couple of years back, as a matter of fact. At this point, the tally is probably mountainous. Well, definitely mountainous. But the truth is that few of my many ventures into other people's mouths (and often more) have felt like… well, like real kisses. Like the pathetic, fairy tale stereotype of two teenagers kissing happily under the rain, or some shit like that. To me, _love _has never been an aspect to things. I've only been in love once, a complication that developed only a few days ago, but even that hasn't felt like the mythical wonder that it's supposed to. My emotions for Craig are harsh, painful, torturous, even. Tears and blood and fire. Overdramatized, agonizing.

With Tweek, though, it's… so much lighter, sweeter, more reluctant but therefore all the more pure. His touch is so tentative, like he doesn't want to make a single wrong move—which is probably more than true. After all, the boyfriend that he's used to is far from kind. On the contrary, Craig most likely never allowed Tweek to make the first move, even back when he was himself—it just wasn't like him to let another assume anything near a position of dominance. And it still isn't.

I wonder suddenly if Tweek has _ever _kissed someone completely of his own accord. The thought that he probably hasn't makes my stomach clench, and not in a bad way. I hold him a bit tighter, still making sure not to press too hard. I'm as nervous as he is—the last thing I want to do is make a wrong move, a harmful one that ensures he'll stay away from me in the future. This is a risk on his part, and I want to show him that it's a perfectly okay one, that I'd love to be this to him, Craig's… stand-in. Admittedly, the makeshift title is far from appealing, but the prospect is the opposite. I _want _to help Tweek, and if this is the way in which I can…

Well, it's my specialty.

"So, um…" Tweek pulls back, and I open my eyes in time to see that he's blushing furiously, staring at the bedspread and generally looking adorable. "I… what happens next…? I'm sorry, but I'm—just not used to this, to…"

"Taking the reins?" I offer, and he gives a small nod. "It's fine," I chuckle lightly. "Just… do what you feel is right… trust me, you'll get the hang of it. What do you _want _to do right now? And if it's nothing… that's fine, too. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"I want… well…" He shakes his head a bit, blonde spikes flinging in his eyes. "I'm not sure… I think… it would be easier for me if you took c-control… more like him, you know—not that I want it to be totally like him!" he adds hastily, eyes flashing wide open. "Please don't be rough, just… if you could… take the lead…"

"Of course," I agree easily, looping an arm around his neck.

"Th-thank you," he mumbles. "I'd try to… you know… but it's way too much pressure, I could do anything wrong, I—"

I silence him in the most efficient way possible, and his sentence cuts off with a small squeak. Smirking against his lips, I pull him in a bit closer, beginning to slide one hand nearer to his waistband. He quivers lightly, but doesn't make any sign that I should stop as I slowly slip my parka off over his shoulders. His chest is exposed, thin and pale and bony, and I wrap my arm around his neck, nuzzling his shoulder gently. His breath pauses, holding completely still.

"Breathe," I urge him gently, my voice soft in his ear. I reach down and take hold of one of his hands, guide it gently to the collar of my own shirt. His fingers grip it, and I help him pull it up over my head, then drop it onto the bed, leaving both of us only in jeans. I kiss him again, lightly, then pull back and consider him with an almost artistic eye. This _is _my art, after all—I'm going to make a work of him. I just have to decide what direction to take it.

"Do you want me to be gentle or harsh? Which would work better for you? I don't want to hurt you, but if you're more used to things being less light…" I push a handful of stray hair out of his wide eyes.

"Well… to be honest… it would take a lot to hurt me at this point… I'm really used to everything," he confesses quietly, watching me through his eyelashes. "But I don't want you to be too soft… if you don't mind, he—he was never really like that… considerate, in the beginning, but definitely not reluctant…"

"I don't want to bring back bad memories," I intone quietly.

"They have to be brought back at some point… I rather it be with someone who can help me through them. Someone who I can trust to save me from them."

I don't need any more indication to pull him into another smothering kiss, this time letting my lips and tongue wander a little bit more, working from his mouth to his jawline, and slowly inching down his neck until I reach the expanse of his bare shoulders. My fingers run along the back of his ribs, stroking, until I've once again reached the waistband that I earlier abandoned. He emits a low whine, and I can't hold back the almost feral grin that comes to my lips. Last time that it was the two of us—the only other time—I couldn't appreciate it fully with the prospect of Craig's presumably more skilled round ahead of me. Now, we're the only ones here.

I can fully enjoy myself.

I slide my hand down in his pants, fingering his tailbone, then strip off the garment all at once, leaving it in a tangle around his legs. He lets out a muted squeak, and I freeze for a moment, reminding myself that I have to be careful, that if I hurt him, even accidentally, it could have catastrophic consequences for us both. But a few seconds of precaution later, he seems fine again, and I calmly use my other hand to tug them off of his legs, pulling my mouth away from the base of his neck so that I can focus more on my task.

I can't deny that I'm getting excited, but I can hardly be blamed for it, either. This is where I feel at home, in all honesty. And the couple of days between the last time that I fucked someone have been so traumatic that this is more comforting to me than anything else.

I can only hope that it is for Tweek, as well.

Still, doing it in broad daylight feels odd. So I detach myself from him for a moment, forcing myself to ignore his slight whimper of protest and instead rising, pacing across the room to the window and jerking it shut with its rusty chain. The curtain is awful, a grayish dirt color and too thin, but it at least blocks out the majority of the light in the room, leaving it deeply shadowed. I return to Tweek's side feeling less out of place.

"Why did you do that?" he inquires shakily.

"Privacy," I answer. It's the simplest response, even if it doesn't make much real sense. I don't want to bring big words with bigger implications—like _atmosphere _and _quality_—into the tiny exchange between us right now.

"But I don't like the dark," he says nervously, pressing up against me. His heart is a delicate flutter under the thin layer of skin, bone, and muscle protecting it.

"It's okay," I promise. "I'll protect you."

I place my fingers under his chin, tilting it upwards and meeting his eyes. He looks almost scared, backlit by the warped sunlight leaking through the window shade, his face hollow and shadowed. His throat moves in a convulsive swallow, and I move my other fingers upwards to stroke it gently, a smirk pulling at the edges of my lips and revealing my teeth. I then pull that hand back, instead looping my arm around his waist and squeezing it tightly. He's practically on my lap at this point, a warm weight that I don't mind in the least.

"I want you to try something," I purr in his ear. "I want you to try… to take my pants off."

"T-take your pants off?" he echoes as though he can't believe the words.

"That's what I said."

"Well…" He seems to struggle for a moment, conflict playing out in his bright green eyes before he finally gives a small, tentative nod. "But… you only pulled mine down to my knees, so that's all I'm doing for you."

"Fair enough," I agree with the barest hint of impatience, disregarding the fact that what's he's saying isn't exactly true. I'm getting a bit desperate, almost twitchy, and have to bite down on my tongue to stay silent as he slips his fingers through my belt loop, slowly tugging it down. I rise up slightly so that he can get them down more easily, and let out a low sigh when he finally manages to successfully remove them. The rough denim is still bunched up around my knees, but for all intents and purposes, all we have left on is our boxers.

"You still okay?" I murmur, my fingers tracing his spine. The air between us seems to be getting more and more heated, almost imperceptibly, as if the flush on both of our faces is warming the temperature by multiple degrees.

"Y-yeah…"

"Good." I kiss him slowly, luxuriously, drawing it out over the space of several minutes and using the time provided to let my hands wander a bit more, slinking down his boxers, teasing his ass, hips, thighs, exploring nearer and nearer to more sensitive regions. His mouth is getting hotter and rougher against mine, periodic squeaks and groans going between us. My shoulder blades strain as he grips them tightly, his fingernails digging into my back. I slit my eyes slightly open for a split second, enough time to see that his boxers are straining more than a little. Perfect. I brush against the edge of his cock with my fingertips, and he yelps, biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. I challenge this with a nip at his tongue, catching it between my front teeth and stroking it with my own even as my pinkie finger hooks along the edge of his boxers, pulling them down. He's incredibly stiff, his breaths forced and shaking powerfully, clearly holding himself back.

"Let it go," I murmur, my mouth moving up his cheek and to his ear. "Don't worry about restraining yourself… go all out…"

I have to confess, I didn't expect _all out _to be quite as massive as it is. He flings himself forward, and I find myself falling back, my head bouncing slightly on the mattress as he's suddenly on top of me, bracing himself on his hands and kissing me hungrily, our bare chests brushing together as I continue to explore his lower half. Sinking to his elbows, he traces my hipbone with a now-free hand and snaps the edge of my boxers briefly, leaving my skin to sting sharply underneath the point of impact. I let out a low whimper, pulling my own hands free to tangle them in his hair, clenching hard enough to be painful, but really not able to care less.

"Didn't think you had this in you," I slur drunkenly.

"I'm full of surprises." He gives a short laugh, one that doesn't sound anything like him. It's like we're both on fire as he finally pulls my boxers down, and then he falls down on top of me, all of his hot skin burning against mine, as our legs wind together. I'm half-hyperventilating, lungs moving in and out fast enough to cause lightheadedness, so I'm not entirely sure which was is up and which is down. I cling onto Tweek like he's the only thing in the world, and for the moment he is, and I really couldn't ask for anything else. His mouth disappears from mine for a moment, and I let out a whine of protest, but moments later feel his tongue on my neck and it changes into a low, breathy, drawn-out sigh as my hands go slightly limp.

I'm _happy._

I can confirm that it's the absolute, no-strings-attached truth. I'm not just on a near-sex high, I'm happy, I'm actually fucking happy and it feels amazing. Not _near _happy, not _approaching _happy—there already, reached the point, satisfied, content. There's really nowhere I'd rather be than in this shitty motel with the one person who makes it bearable. Beyond bearable. So, so far beyond bearable.

"I love you," I whisper suddenly.

Jesus, I don't know where it come from, I don't know if it'll last, I don't even know if it's true, but I've said it, and I'm not taking it back, wouldn't if I got the opportunity. For the moment, in any case, I believe it with every cell of my being. And even though that's probably going to change as soon as we're on the move again, that doesn't matter, because right now, _right now, _it's just the two of us, and that means that everything is perfect.

He freezes suddenly, and I'm just about to ask what's wrong when there's a huge bang on the door.

"Hello?" Craig's voice is singsong, taunting, and the worst thing that I could possibly imagine hearing.

"God no," I mutter, bracing myself on my elbows and straightening up. Tweek does the same, and I loosely wrap an arm around his shoulders, gripping his hand with the other. Together, we turn to face the door, both oddly steady despite the fact that my heart is ricocheting violently back and forth, seeming to bruise my lungs, so that they have to struggle harder than ever to even get a proper breath out.

"I… I don't care," Tweek whimpers, "if he finds us here—I don't care what he sees, I don't care if he knows…"

"It's okay," I promise thoughtlessly as the unlocked door bangs open.

Craig stands framed there, wearing a fresh outfit and with his hair damp from a recent wash, looking so clean and _normal _that I almost make the mistake of thinking he's in his right mind. Then his gaze finds us, in all of our wound up, half-naked glory, and his eyes narrow to blazing slits, lips pulling back from his teeth in a predator's grimace.

"You're interrupting," I growl softly.

His lips move a few times, as if about to start a sentence, then slowly lapses into stillness again. Not a single sound comes out of his mouth. At first, I think he's apoplectic, too utterly infuriated to so much as yell at us, but then, slowly, the truth begins to make itself visible. Craig is _lost. _Confused. Hurt. I'm in bed with his boyfriend, and, like anyone else, he simply doesn't seem to know how to react. I feel almost bad for him, but it's a quick thing, like a flash of lightning, gone before it has the chance to fully materialize.

Craig stares for another handful of seconds, then runs.

A slow breath makes its way out of my mouth, and I shake my head slowly, letting go of Tweek and getting up, pacing over to pull on my clothes. _Too close. Too close. Too close. _

"What are you doing?" he asks shakily, and I pause, gripping the corner of my jeans. Slowly, I turn to face him, trying to keep my face steady but knowing that the depths of the emotions suddenly consuming me are sure to show in my eyes.

"Getting ready," I finally explain, my voice surprisingly calm but rather monotonous. "We can't stay here any longer. It's time to keep moving."


	12. TWELVE

**A/N** _S'pose I really don't have much to say. Only three more chapters after this, please review!__  
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**Thanks to** _SparklesMakeMeHappy__  
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**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

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**TWELVE**

An hour later, we're cruising down the road in a blaze red vintage Chevy Corvair, blasting a CD of 80s rock with the wind whipping by at sixty miles an hour. I can't say that I particularly appreciate Chuck the receptionist's choice of car or music, but they both suffice. After all, our only goal right now is distance, and he promised that the Corvair would get us as far as we needed.

The whole exchange that got us the transport seemed a bit trippy to me, but Tweek was eager enough to trust Chuck, even if he did offer us an easy out only because he "liked" us. His words echo in my head now, over the piercing lyrics of "Eye of the Tiger."

_I've got a cabin a little ways up north… belongs to the family, but they only use it in summer, you'd be fine. Go on, take my car—old red girl out back. She'll get you there good enough, should be a map in the glove compartment, location marked. Just get out of here. _

I can't quite decide what his motivation was, but if I had to wager a guess, I'd target it at either his appreciation for Tweek or his eagerness to dispose of us after the Craig incident, which could easily attract police. Despite the motel being in the middle of nowhere, there were still a couple of neighboring buildings back there that could have been occupied. And we were hardly quiet during that night in the woods.

Still, I can't shake the suspicion that we're walking into some sort of trap There's no way Chuck is in league with Craig—that would just be ridiculous—but the idea of him setting us up for capture by authorities is refusing to go unheard. I don't _want _to believe it, by any means, but stress still keeps my single hand on the wheel tight and my lips pressed together firmly as we scale mile after mile of winding country road. The dark forest from back at the motel still looms on our right, and Tweek has his nose pressed against the window, as if expecting the multi-story cabin Chuck described to materialize at any moment. Which is could, really—we're getting quite close.

"Hey, could you take at the map again?" I request, flipping down the front seat visor to block the sunlight glaring in my eyes. "We should be just about there…"

"Don't need to," Tweek replies almost brightly. My eyes skate over to his window, and, sure enough, there's a small dirt track winding away into the trees approaching quick on the right. I hastily ease down the brakes, bringing us to almost a full stop right before it. I can't tell if it's our exit or not, but the timing seems about right, and there's no other path in view for the next half mile at least. Hand over hand, I manage to turn us around to face it, then head down the bumpy road, finally releasing the gas pedal and letting us slide to a full halt when the cabin comes into view. I can't deny that it's a damn nice place. Two floors, porch, glass windows, sleek logs forming the walls. I half-kick open the door of the Corvair and step out, releasing a pleased sigh as my long legs get the opportunity to stretch.

"Is this it?" Tweek questions from inside the car, sounding almost awed.

"Certainly looks like it," I agree. What's more, there aren't any police cars or similarly dangerous vehicles parked around us. They might be hidden, but it looks to me at least that we managed to make it here safely.

Woodchips crunch under my feet as I approach the porch, and he scampers behind me, making a lot more noise even though I'm far from silent. A few moments later, I have my hand on the knob-less door, and I push it open cautiously. No lock. I'm not sure if that's good or bad—it really depends on whether or not we're found, I suppose. Though the thought of Craig actually locating us here seems like a bit of a stretch.

_Unless Chuck tells him…_

That won't happen, though. The cashier isn't stupid. Well—he isn't _that _stupid, hopefully. Trying to push aside my growing anxiety, I step inside the cozy, shadowy building, looking around. The first floor seems to consist of a living room with a couple of worn armchairs and a tall fireplace, with a few doors leading off to what I can presume are a kitchen and a bathroom. A staircase winds around the perimeter, creeping up to a balcony that juts over the open space. I can just make out more doors, these almost certainly leading to bedrooms, on the upper walls. All in all, it looks nice, even if the furniture is a bit shabbier than the space that it's contained in.

"Whoa," Tweek whispers from behind me.

"Not bad, huh?" I saunter in fully, stretching my arms high above my head and turning around to shoot him a grin. "They probably have some dry food stocked in the cupboards, too. People always leave stuff behind when they go home." As another thought strikes me, I glance around at the walls, and my cheerful expression falters slightly. "Doesn't look like there's any heating, though… we can't stay here forever unless we want to freeze to death."

"There'll be blankets enough for us to make it a few weeks, and that fireplace, too," he mumbles in response, seemingly not wanting to consider any downsides to our situation at the moment. I can't blame him—our luck is on its best run yet. In any case, these housings are much better than those at the motel. There'll probably be some electricity, even without the heating. Judging by Chuck alone, his family probably isn't the type to cook without it.

"I suppose there will be," I agree, making my way over to an armchair and flopping down in it. I contemplate making a comment about whether or not we ought to share a bedroom, hesitate for a second, then decide to go for it. "So… what will the… sleeping arrangements be?"

He looks up at me from his position in the doorway as though I've said something utterly absurd. I raise a hand in apology, but the words to come out of his mouth are far from what I was expecting.

"Are you fucking kidding? I'm not going to spend the night alone until I know that Craig's subdued. Permanently." With that, he flounces over and pulls himself onto my lap, his frame so tiny that I can still see over his head when he's sitting up straight. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and set my chin on his messy hair, smiling serenely.

"Looks like we're stuck here, then."

"Like that's a problem?" he asks incredulously. It's remarkably relaxing to feel the slight shift of his chest as he speaks, with his back pressed up against mine. I shift my position a bit, adjusting my legs to become a bit more comfortable.

"Not for us, maybe," I allow. "It's definitely a nice place. But, well… your parents, for example. Don't you think they miss you?" I don't bother mentioning mine; there's no way they give a damn that I'm gone. They hardly noticed me when I was there, so why should they so much as be aware of my absence? Tweek's seemed a bit less negligent, though.

"Oh, I'm sure they're glad I'm gone," he grumbles.

The comment catches me by surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah… I was always a pain for both of them… medication, hospitalization, panic attacks… they always acted like it was fun, but… I heard their arguments, sometimes. Late at night, y'know. Dad sometimes thought I wasn't worth it… Mom would always talk him out of putting me up for adoption, but…"

I don't have a reply. How was I ever to know that the Tweak family, looking so perfect on the outside, was really nearly as torn up as mine? My parents never mentioned the idea of getting rid of any of us kids. Despite our general hatred for each other, which sometimes resulted in violence, we were… well… bound together, really. It wouldn't necessarily be _sad _if one of us died or something, but it would be… empty. Different, changed. We were still a family, if a broken one.

Tweek, though… it sounds like he really was in a shitty situation. And it comes to me that maybe Craig was his escape from that—something that wouldn't leave him, not ever.

I realize slowly that I'm the one who tore them apart, and I suddenly feel horribly guilty.

I never thought of it that way, after all. To me, Craig has always been the villain—the villain that I'm absolutely dazzled by, but the villain nonetheless. He's what we've been running from. But it's becoming more and more clear to me why Tweek didn't want to leave him in the first place—he was something to hold on to in the twitchy boy's windswept life, painful but still steady. Craig was never going to abandon him.

Not until I came along.

"Mine probably don't even notice I'm gone," I offer grimly.

"Don't talk like that," he murmurs, voice surprisingly soft.

"I haven't even talked face-to-face with them for almost a month," I point out. "Last time I ended up getting a black eye from my dad. Remember when I walked around looking like half a raccoon for a week?" My mouth twitches upwards at the somehow bittersweet memory, and then falls again when pain from my current face wounds tingles through me at the action. Craig's punch, combined with Tweek's from the night before, is seriously taking its toll on me. Maybe I should get up and go to the bathroom, see if there's any sort of first-aid thing here to take better care of the bloodstained bruises. Still, I don't want to move. This is comfortable.

"I thought that was cute," Tweek replies easily.

My stomach contorts in rather pleased surprise, and this time I can't push away the almost shy grin that flexes across my face. "Cute? Really?" _I didn't even know that you noticed me. _

"Craig would always have some scar or whatever from his dad…" he goes on, nodding. "So I got used to them… and now I think they're cute."

Slight sickness grips me as my insides drop. Of course… of course it was linked back to Craig somehow. "Yeah," I agree dully, but the enthusiasm has gone out of my voice. In all honesty, I'm sick to death of everything always being about Craig. I want to forget about him, if I can. Thinking about him hurts. A lot.

I don't know if I'm still in love with him. It's hard to imagine his face without a sour sort of warmth poisoning my chest, but at the same time, I half-wish that I'd never have to see him again. I'm happy with Tweek, really. Not that things wouldn't be better if we were able to turn Craig around, to make him good again—

No. I can't afford to think like that.

"So… anyways." He fidgets a bit in my lap. "D'you want to, like… do something? I'm bored already…"

"Can't just be happy with peace?" I tease, lifting my chin from his head and leaning back. "Well, we could always go wander around the woods… we're miles and miles away from the motel, so even if he stayed in them, there's no way that he could be near here by now. We should be safe as far as we can walk, for the time being, anyways. Except for from the grizzly bears."

"Grizzly bears?" he squeaks. "No—no grizzly bears."

A snort of laughter pulls at my lungs. I can't help it—he sounds so innocent, so vulnerable, so desperate—but in a ridiculously adorable way. "Alright, then, stay inside. That's what you want to do?"

He nods hastily. "Tired," he mumbles, then snaps up straight so suddenly that I have to jerk my head back to avoid being hit. "No, no, no, that's not true, I'm not tired. I have too much energy… I haven't even had coffee since we ate…!" As if on cue, his stomach gives a massive rumble, and a tiny whimper escapes his lips.

"Want to go see if there's any food around here?" I suggest.

"Food's good." He gives a couple of rapid nods and leaps off of my lap, his limbs seeming to tingle with energy. "I'm hungry, I'm really hungry."

"You certainly ate your fill back at that motel," I laugh in response. "Bottomless pit, are you?"

"Not bottomless," he objects half-sullenly. "I don't eat that much, usually, but… well… we've been running around a lot. I'm not used to running around, it's more… er… other varieties of exercise…" His face flushes and he ducks his head, looking up nervously at me through a few strands of blonde hair, almost as if he expects me to be angry at the subtle mention of his former involvement with Craig.

I just roll my eyes good-naturedly, a grin curling my lips and settling there with contentment. "You're cute, has anyone ever told you that?" Then I realize how stupid the half-question was, and a hint of frustration creeps into me, turning the smile down. "Well… I suppose someone has… several times, at a guess."

"Huh?"

"Oh, nothing," I amend quickly, not wanting to appear bitter. "It's just… you know, confusing. I'm not used to being with someone who's… well… pre-owned, y'know. I'll get over it, though. Just can't quite adjust to the fact that I'm not your first."

I can tell immediately that something's wrong, but try to push aside the foreboding sensation at first, even when I'm subconsciously sickened by Tweek's stiffening.

"Pre-owned?" he repeats, his previously bright voice suddenly ice-cold.

"Nothing, it's… it's a bad way to put it," I mumble, staring at the ground. I feel trashy, for referring to him in such a disgusting way. "I don't… I don't see you like that, I really don't. Just… yeah, never mind, forget it."

He clearly isn't that willing to forget it. "Does that mean that you're _owning _me right now?"

"No, of course not! It's just, I've taken the virginity of practically all the girls in the grade, I—"

"Go fuck yourself," Tweek spits.

This is all wrong, and that's what my body is telling me, frosty coldness seeping into my stomach, my brain seeming to work more slowly than before, words spilling out of my mouth without much any thought put into them at all. I'm babbling, trying as hastily as I can to fix the deadly mistake that I've made, even though I know that I won't be able to manage to, that I'm only making things worse. I can't help but try.

"No one fucking _owns _me." Before I can make a move to follow him, he's running upstairs, his feet thudding on the wooden stairs, and a bang shatters my ears as he throws himself into a bedroom, a sharp snap that signifies his locking it behind him.

"Tweek…" I whisper, but there's no way he can even hear me. Everything's gone completely silent, and there's not so much as a ticking clock to stop the wall of nothingness. There's no sound of crying from Tweek's room, no sound of anything, and that makes things worse somehow. I'm stunned, really. Stunned and confused. It just seemed to come out of nowhere, his anger. I wonder if perhaps I brushed on a spot that had been sensitive in his and Craig's relationship.

"I'm sorry," I call loudly, "it was a stupid thing to say, I was just thinking of all those sluts at school, not of you, you're… different…" My voice trails off as I realize that I'm not getting anywhere, and I slowly raise a hand, pressing my fingers to my pounding forehead.

A sudden thud causes my eyes to spring wide open, and it takes me a moment to realize that it was the sound of my parka crashing to the ground next to me, presumably from where Tweek threw it, off of the landing. I reach forward, scoop it up and finger the fabric almost thoughtfully as his horribly steady voice reaches me.

"I don't need this anymore. I've got pants, I can be shirtless. Just like you were until _he _decided to lend you some clothing."

The note of jealousy in his voice is all too clear. I sigh, inhaling the scent of the fabric. It smells like it always has, but there's a bit of Tweek in there, too, his unique aroma, blending together with what I assume must be my own to create a whole new sensation. For some reason, I'm nearly tearing up, and my throat catches.

"You two are the same…" I hear him growl. "I'm making the same damned mistake."

"Yeah, well." My voice is comes out with surprising ease, sounding casual, almost careless. "Well, I don't get drunk and beat people up. That is… I haven't gotten drunk for a few days, and I'd never beat you up. I mean… you're different… I got involved with you for your own good…"

"Coming from a man whore, there's not much of a fucking difference."

I try to act as if every one of his words doesn't seem to stab right through my skin. I keep my face in a carefully groomed expression of neutrality even though he's far from being able to see me. Someone, even more than hurt, I'm… offended. Insulted. Irritated. "Man whore, is that it? Mm, nice. Afraid you're not the first person to come up with that one. Ten points for impact, none for originality." I toss the parka in the air, catch it again.

"Man whore!" he yells again, and there's a sudden bang, so big that I spring out of my chair and stumble over to where I can get a decent view of the landing. His door is still shut, with him behind it, presumably throwing things now.

Several more crashes ring through the silence, and I find myself on my feet without thinking, my legs pumping underneath me and carrying me up the stairs, my fingers light on the railing. Moments later, I'm on the landing, hammering on the only shut door with my fist.

"Tweek, cut it out!" I yell over the sound of a heavy bang. "Don't destroy the damn house, I just—I said it thoughtlessly, it's just me being idiotic—I didn't mean it, Jesus Christ, I didn't mean it! Fucking cool down!"

"_Why the hell should I cool down?_" It sounds like he really must be furious, because he's _screaming, _not sounding anything like himself, instead wild and furious and absolutely out of control. I want to go in there, to wrap my arms around him and hold him steady and murmur into his ear until he calms down—I rattle the metal doorknob desperately, but it doesn't shift at all. Furious, I kick at it sharply, which results only in a sharp sting in my toes.

"Fuck," I hiss. "Please—"

Everything goes silent suddenly, stays like that for several seconds, until I hear a deadly low murmur from the other side of the door.

"What the _fuck _do you want?"

"Well… I want to help you, Tweek… you sound a bit shitty, and it's—well, it's my job to take care of you, that's what I told myself… I… you need to…"

"You don't sound too fucking good yourself, dumbass. No need to get torn up over insignificant little _me… _go on, screw a few more whores, I know you want to… that's all you _do, _isn't it? Just fuck and smoke. You're so goddamn _useless. _Just _leave. _Let yourself be happy… that was the first time that I saw you happy, y'know… when we were close… we would've gone all the way if Craig hadn't come, wouldn't we? That _is _the only thing that makes you feel good. Stupid motherfucking _sex. _It's all about sex, for you, and it always has been, and it always will be, so stop wasting both of our time!"

I stay quiet for nearly a full minute, letting his words pass through me, absorbing their full and rather painful impact. My only weapon is that they're untrue, entirely untrue. All I have to do is convince him of that. And there's only one way to communicate such.

"I said—"

"I know what you said, fuckhead," he spits. "You said that you loved me. What the hell should make me believe that? How do I know that you haven't said that to every goddamn girl you've lain across from, after fucking her senseless all night, when you're both sweaty and drunk as shit and out of your minds… how many times have you said those words? _How many goddamn times? _And don't even fucking _answer _that, because I know. I know that you've probably _lost count _over the ages, haven't you? It's been too long, too many fucking times, you don't even _know _anymore. And that—_that—_tells me just how utterly meaningless your words are."

"Tweek…" It's all I can say, really, since anything else would be on the verge of lying. What hurts is that every one of his words is absolutely, completely, utterly true. I hate it, I wish I could deny it, but I can't. He's right.

Well, no, that's not it. He's not right, he's not right at all. Because I _do _love him, in a way that I've never loved any of the rest of them, not even Craig. It's not that I care about him _more _than I do Craig, it's just… easier… less painful, to feel for him.

Usually.

"Do it, motherfucker. Go. Go on, be happy. I fucking _dare _you to be happy. I'm not going to hold you back anymore. I'm not worth it… you're not worth it… us, together, _we're _not worth it. Just leave. Please… please be happy."

"But I couldn't do that," I find myself saying, not even planning the words before they're out of my mouth. "I can't just _be happy, _Tweek, because as soon as I go, you'll be after me, with your face flushed and your hair all stuck up in those adorable little spikes, saying how something's coming to get you, how you need protection…" I shake the doorknob again. It's loose, even if it won't turn all the way. I could break through, if I had to. But he's starting to sound like he's finally relaxing, and I don't want to burst in and shatter that.

"I wouldn't," he replies, and his confidence sickens me. "Think about it… happiness is all we want, in the end, isn't it? Everything's just about achieving happiness. When you run into something that's in your way, you… fight it away, strike it down, push through it. When there's a wall… a wall between you and what makes you happy… you _push through it! _Even if that you repel that thing, even if everything in the world wants to tear you apart, you keep trying… you break down that wall… that's what you're supposed to do… when you love something."

"It's… not that simple," I sigh, my fingers running over the doorknob's metal again and again. "Why don't you get it…? I can't just… break through a wall. Things that make me happy are never just _there. _Never just… behind a single thing barring the way. I always have to die for them, to kill for them, to sin for them and _still _they manage to evade me. That's what my life is, Tweek. That's my curse. I'll never be happy… I try to make other people happy…" The words are pouring out now, an unstoppable flow, and I don't even realize how true they are until they've left my mouth. "I spend my whole life—every one of my lives—just trying to make people happy. Even the sex, that's what it is. It's pleasure for me, sure, but it makes them happier than it does me. To be totally honest, it depresses me a bit. To know that I can't do much else… but I keep on going, because it's what they want from me, and because they'll pay for it, sometimes, and paying means food for my sister and my parents, for my dad who doesn't even notice when an extra few beer bottles appear in the fridge… just assumes he bought them himself, I guess. And Mysterion—remember Mysterion? The stupid superhero?"

There's no sound from the other side of the door, but I go on anyways.

"That was because I needed a _better _way to save people. A more real way, where it was about lives and not just stupid orgasms. So I became a damn vigilante, a rescuer, an intensified persona that would never expose the shitty interior. I was so _strong _when I was him. Until I realized… no one cared, not really. It was a fad. It was always a fad. Shiny, new, _oh, look at the boy with the cape, isn't he so gorgeous, isn't he so _brave." I spit on the ground with the last word, trying to erase the bitterness that crept unbidden into my mouth with the stupid word.

"At least you were admired… at least they cared at _all. _Who gives a fuck _why _it was? At least they did."

"But did they?" A tiny bit of hope flares inside of me, sparked by the surprisingly even tone of his voice, but I don't allow it to grow. "Did they _really _care? If it had been me—if it had been Mysterion in danger, if he was in a massive fight and the whole city was watching… if a single one of them got a chance to go forward and help him, to save him, _would they?_"

Silence.

"No. No, they wouldn't. Because it was a show. Everything I did—not just as the damned kid in the purple hood and the mask, but everything. _Everything _was always a show. Nobody knew who I was. _I _didn't fucking know who I was. I probably should have… maybe things would have been better off if I had gone in there knowing exactly how fucking bad I was. But no. I was a character. That's all I've ever been, Tweek… to anyone. To Karen, I'm the hero. To school, I'm the whore. To Craig, I'm the villain. To you…" I trail off there, because I don't know what I am to him. I have absolutely no idea, and anything would feel like an assumption. I'm done making assumptions. I won't believe another damn thing until it's presented in front of me, solid, factual evidence. Otherwise I fall into far too many traps. I'm sick of getting caught.

"What am I to you?" I ask it plainly, not trying to wrap anything sentimental or symbolic around the five words.

It's a genuine inquiry, and I hope desperately that he'll answer, that he's managed to calm down enough to at least say _something, _something other than _man whore. _I don't expect it to be _lover. _I don't even expect it to be something as trivial as _crush. _What I do expect is _dickhead, bitch, motherfucker, jerkwad. _Because those words… they don't mean 'enemy.' They certainly communicate disgust, hatred, but that's still different from _enemy. _

Because I don't _want _to be Tweek's enemy. I don't care if he despises me—well, I do care, but it's insignificant as long as we're on the same side. However grudgingly, however furiously, however miserably, however angrily.

I just want us to be on the same damned side.

"Tormenter."

Without even knowing why, I throw all my weight against the door, and it crashes open. I get a clear view of the room just in time to see him throw himself out the window.


	13. THIRTEEN

**A/N** _Sorry for the delay, I was away from the internet for several days. :P But I'm back now! Only two more chapters...__  
_

**Thanks to** _HarvardDropout__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

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**THIRTEEN**

My whole body freezes. I find myself moving towards the window, through which a light, cool breeze blows, disrupting the limp hang of the thin, gray-blue curtains shoved to either side of it. My heart is somewhere in the vicinity of my throat, or maybe nowhere at all, and my stomach is roiling fiercely, but I manage to keep my expression composed into a stiff, cool expression, though there's no one to see it. I don't think at all, because if I allowed words into my mind, chances are that they'd be far from the ones I wanted. There's no plan forming, no imagined scenario, just a sort of humming blankness. I don't try to reach out, but my hand does so anyways, finger curling around the splintering wooden window frame as I lean forward.

There he is, splayed on the ground, staring upwards. His face is pale, horribly pale, and, even from the great height, his eyes are dark and bright, a disgusted, accusing light gleaming out of them. But at least there _is _light, and as I watch, his lips move, too, framing a word that I can somehow read—or perhaps his voice is carried faintly on the slight updraft, but either way, his meaning couldn't be clearer.

_Bastard. _

Exactly four seconds pass, during which I stare at him as hard as I can, nausea creeping up inside of me. Then I'm moving as quickly as if someone flipped a switch, darting out his room and down the stairs, slipping slightly on the polished wood and almost falling one time. I manage to right myself by grabbing onto the railing, and then it's back to running, running as fucking fast as I possibly can until I'm outside, darting across the shabby porch and running around to the back. I can hear his breathing now, loud and ragged, and see him there, cushioned slightly by a spiky-looking bush. His fingers are tangled in the grass, and I can see where he's pulled some of the roots out, bits of the yellow-green strands poking out from his clenched fists.

"Hey—hey, Tweek." I shuffle forward, falling to my knees. His eyes have closed, and I refuse to think about what that might mean, instead lifting his head and cradling it gently, pulling it into my lap and running my hands obsessively through his greasy hair. "Tweek, say something, okay? Go on, just—just say something, show me that you're alright…" I realize that I'm rocking him back and forth in my anxiety, and stop quickly upon the realization that such an action might injure him farther.

He doesn't say a word, though, and his inhalations are getting fewer and farther between. _Not now, dammit. If you survived the impact—don't give up now, you idiot!_

"Tweek—"

Out of nowhere, one of his hands shoots up like fucking lightning, and I feel something pointy brushing against my throat. At first I think that his fingernails must have somehow gotten absurdly sharp, before I see the remains of a shattered beer bottle half-buried in the dirt beside him. Of course, that would be our luck, that he lands right next to some drunkard's relic. I swallow, feeling the dirty glass prick me ever so slightly—not enough to draw blood, just a warning.

"You were going to leave," he gasps. "You don't care."

This is such an unfair accusation that I snap back without thinking, wincing as this results in my throat very nearly being cut. "I wasn't going to! You asked me to, but I… I was never going to, not really. Don't you know that I couldn't leave you?"

"'As soon as I go, you'll be after me.'" I recognize my own words coming from his mouth, and a surge of guilt twists my stomach. "That was what you said, Kenny. You were going to leave, you know you were. You fucking bastard… if I hadn't jumped—tell me the fucking truth. If I hadn't jumped, if I'd stayed in there and if I kept telling you to leave, for hours, you would, wouldn't you?"

We both know the truth, so neither of us really has to say it. He's right. If he kept at it, I'd get frustrated eventually, annoyed, and that would be enough cause for me to ditch him. If I lost my temper, I wouldn't so much as hesitate before leaving.

"What did you expect me to do if you did?" he goes on, his voice gaining depth and energy. "Did you think I'd… what… keep going, keep running from him? How well do you think I can carry on alone? Do you think I even have the _motivation _to? What do I have left to _live _for, anyways? What the fuck do I have left to live for? I might _love _Craig, but he's such a fucked-up asshole at this point that I die a little every time I'm with him—I can't cope with the abuse forever, you realize. Everyone has a breaking point. My family is hardly a pull, same with those people who called themselves my _friends _at one point. You know, Token, Clyde, Kevin. I doubt they care that I'm gone any more than my parents do. And then there's you, of course."

"Me," I repeat softly.

"Yeah, dumbass, you. You're all there's left, really. Don't you _get _that? If there's any chance, any chance at _all _of you leaving… I can't… I have to know. I have to know how much it'll take until you realize that I'm not worth your time."

"For God's sake, Tweek, how many people do you think I'd do all of this for? You said it yourself—everyone has a breaking point. I don't _want _to leave you. It's the last thing I want, in fact. But you were saying that was what _you _wanted, for me to be happy or whatever. I can't be happy without you any more than you can be with… without me." The words are a gamble, but I offer them anyways, wondering whether or not he'll agree.

"Without you."

"…Yeah."

"So do you think I'm happy without _him?_" he demands, but it doesn't slip my notice that he's slowly lowering the glass shard. "Because I'm fucking not. I said that you make me happy, alright, I'll admit to that. But it's hardly _real _happiness. It's like… a memory of happiness, if that makes any stupid sense at all. I haven't been _really _happy since… since before he turned bad. Meaning for years."

Guilt wracks me once more as I realize that I've most certainly been happy even in the few days we've spent together, and that I wasn't even really taking his emotions into account at those points. I'm a selfish bastard, but that's hardly recent news. There's nothing that I can say to him. He has me cornered, has taken away any truth that might have lain in all my stupid assumptions and left me defenseless. If he stabbed forward with that piece of glass right now, if he _killed _me… I'd have nothing to blame him for. It would be justified, because I'm meant to be his protector, that's what I've devoted my _life _to, and now he's gone and proven that, in a few choice words, I fucking suck at it. Besides, my death is hardly significant. I'd be back—back and out of his way. But then he'd be alone, and if he's telling the truth, if I'm really all that he has to live for, then…

My death means his death.

And he definitely doesn't care enough about his own life to consider it so much as a significant factor.

Just as I come to this conclusion, though, he drops the bit of glass suddenly, and I reflexively flinch back as it drops into the dirt. He props himself up on his elbows, yanking away from my delicate hold on his shoulders with a rough growl, and slowly teeters to his feet. I sit back, knowing that any attempt to help will only aggravate him.

"This is useless," he mutters in an attempt at casualness, managing to stumble forward a couple of steps. I can see bruises forming on his back, bare without the parka that he'd thrown at me back inside the cabin. From the look of it, he's not going to be looking very pleasant in the morning. I touch my own cheek without thinking, my fingers tentatively tracing the mark that Craig left on me. It's definitely faded from before, though I'm sure it's still as vivid a purple as Tweek's wounds are guaranteed to become.

He's trying his best not to seem bothered, though, an effort that I can't help but admire—it's clear from his stiff steps that it's none too easy. After nearly a full minute of halting advances, he's managed to reach the porch. He takes one slow step up, another, and then with a yelp and a crash he slips, falling harshly on the steps with an impact I can't help but wince at.

Heaving a sigh, I haul myself to my own feet, pacing over to where he lies quivering and sticking out a hand, tucking the other one in my jeans pocket. "Here," I grumble, "I'm offering this to you. Take it or leave it."

He glares up at me through a messy swath of hair. "See? This is what I mean," he hisses. "If I say _leave it, _you will leave it. It shouldn't work that way. You have to _always _be there for me! Always! Not just if I want it!"

The words don't make much sense to me. What he's doing is asking me to go against his will for his own good—then it occurs to me that he's taking care of himself. This is his moment of weakness, it has been ever since he's jumped out the window, and he's taking advantage of that opportunity when he's already at his lowest low to warn me. To warn me that I need to be ready to take care of him, always, that sometimes he won't be able to make the best decisions for himself. He's telling me how to best take care of him.

In all honesty, it's admirable as fuck. I could certainly never do it.

"Okay, then. If you want me to help you no matter what, then that's what I'll do."

"No, you idiot! That's exactly—I don't _want _you to, I _need _you to," he explains desperately. "Don't you get that? You need to stay with me. No matter what the hell happens, you _always _need to stay with me!"

I hold my hands up in front of me defensively, nodding along with him. "Alright, Jesus Christ! Calm down. I'll stay with you… no matter what. Promise. Okay?"

"…Fine." He relaxes slightly back onto the steps, into what looks like a very uncomfortable position. "Now are you going to help me up? Because this is really fucking painful." He winces to emphasize the words, and I nod quickly, reaching down and grabbing ahold of his skinny arm, heaving him up. He yelps slightly, teetering and unwillingly falling forward, banging against my chest. I hold him there tightly, running my hands through his hair over and over. A greatly delayed reaction from when he jumped out the window finally hits me—if that leap had been made just ever so slightly differently, he could be dead. He could be _dead. _And then where would I be? I certainly couldn't follow him.

I'd be lost. That's the truth, and chances are that we both know it. I'm just as useless without him as he is without me. We're dependent on each other—we need each other, and we definitely don't want to need each other, but it's somehow worked out that way. Not too horrible of an arrangement, really. Tweek isn't the worst person to be stuck with. Not the best, either, but certainly not the worst.

If, for instance, I was here with Cartman..

The very prospect sickens me, and I manage to distract myself by gripping Tweek's shoulders, helping him into a steadier upright position. "Let's go upstairs," I offer, glancing towards the sun, which is slowly beginning to sink in the sky. Late afternoon is making its lazy transition to early evening. "Get into bed…"

"This early? M'not tired," he protests, slowly manage to limp inside with my guidance.

"Hungry?"

"No…"

"Me neither," I confess honestly. My stomach may be growling ferociously, but the thought of food is vaguely unappealing. "Wasn't there a TV in your room, though?" I can't be sure, since my only glimpse of the place was when I was dashing to the window, but I seem to recall seeing an old, rather chunky television set.

"Yeah… yeah, there is," he confirms as I shut the door behind us with a tap of my heel. "Doubt we'd get any channels out here, though…"

"There might be movies," I offer half-tentatively, giving him a sideways glance. It's an unusually laid-back activity for both of us, watching movies, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't appeal to me right now. My body is oddly worn out from the day of driving, and neither of us are ready to do anything physical, having had only one—if massive—meal in the past few days. It's nothing particularly unusual for me, considering my usual lack of nutrition, but I can see it's taking its toll on Tweek; he's even paler and shakier than usual.

"S'pose so." His face falls slightly when it settles on the stairs leading up to the landing. "Long way up, though… I, um… I'm kind of sore," he admits, biting his lip angrily. He clearly hates having to express any sign of weakness, but I feel nothing but sympathy.

"Don't worry about it," I murmur. "Here, I can… I can carry you, if you want."

"Can you?" he asks nervously. "I… I don't want to ask too much of you… you're tired, too, I can manage—"

"No, no, it's… fine," I promise quietly. "Just… here." I lean down, scooping one arm under his thighs and the other around his back, then lifting him up with a muted exhalation. He's lighter than I remember from the night back in South Park, almost alarmingly emaciated. "This work?"

"Yeah…" he nods into my shoulder, letting his head fall back rather than straining his neck to keep it upright. I adjust my grip slightly and start up the stairs, gritting my teeth at the exertion. Each step is a small struggle, but it could be a lot worse. Moments later, I set him down on the landing, making sure that he can stand properly.

"Thank you," he mumbles, staring at his feet.

"No problem." Seeing his skinny form, another idea suddenly occurs to me. "Just a moment—can you make it to the bedroom, maybe look to see if they've got any DVDs? I need to go grab something from downstairs."

"Sure," he agrees reluctantly, frowning. Clearly he's wondering what I could possibly need from the lower level. I grin my gratitude and hurry back down, a process that's much easier when I'm not weighted. My parka lies in a crumpled, bright orange mess on the floor, next to the chair that we'd been sitting in earlier. I drape it over my arm and head back up, walking in to find him on the floor surrounded by a small pile of VCR tapes and DVD cases. The window, I notice, is closed—I don't mention it, though. He probably doesn't want me to acknowledge such an action.

"Find anything good?" I ask, kneeling next to him.

He jumps slightly, looking quickly over at me. "Oh—um, yeah, there are a few things…" His expression turns even more surprised as I take one of his hands, silently and gently pulling it through one of the parka's sleeves. He trails off, but otherwise doesn't react as I tug it all the way around and zip it up to his chin.

"There. It's going to get dark soon, and that means cold," I offer by way of explanation, sitting back on my heels. "Anyways, go on. What d'you want to watch?"

His eyes remained locked with mine for a long moment, during which neither of us speak. I lace my fingers together, balancing them patiently on my knees. Finally, he turns back to the collection of films, tracing his finger along the floor absentmindedly. "Original _Halloween?_" he offers, holding up one of the cassettes.

"You like horror?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"Well… I don't know, not especially, but… let's give it a try, anyways." He looks almost eager, and I give in. I, for one, do enjoy 'scary' movies, but I'm not particularly keen on him getting freaked out and wailing about monsters or some shit in the middle of the night when we're trying to sleep. After all, we honestly have enough to be afraid of as it is, without the addition of fictional frights.

"Alright, put it in."

Tweek quickly flicks the TV on and slips in the video, while I pace over to the bed, fluffing up a mound of pillows and positioning them against the headboard as the movie loads. A few seconds later, it starts up, and I laugh as he half-runs over to the bed, hurriedly hopping up and snuggling in beside me. His fingers grip my T-shirt hard, and his cheek presses against my shoulder as he watches the movie play out with wide eyes. Even as I laugh at some incidents of overdone suspense, he yelps at every moment that's meant to be scary, and several that aren't, as well. When the brief hour and a half running time has drawn to a close, he's pressed ridiculously close against me, face hidden in my shoulder as shivers run through him.

"You okay?" I ask, looking down on him and fighting to disguise my amusement. "It's not real, you know."

"I know that, I'm not a kid," he sniffs, glaring half-playfully up at me. "Still, it's… a scary concept… a fucked-up murderer like that… following somebody…"

We both fall silent, staring at each other for a moment too long, so that it's all too clear that we both know exactly what the other is thinking. Then he sighs, shaking his head, and straightens up into a proper sitting position. The late sun is now throwing long shadows over the room, giving everything a faint golden glow. "Another?" he offers.

"Sure… if you want to," I clarify incredulously. "If you won't get totally freaked out again…"

"I won't, I won't!" he promises eagerly. I can see the truth in his expression, though, and it hits me suddenly, even though he's clearly trying his hardest to disguise it. The reason why Tweek wants to watch horror films is to distract himself from the real horror, the horror that's stalking _us. _This way, he can reassure himself that the most terrifying prospect he can dream up is only fictional.

To be honest, it's heartbreaking.

Still, I don't let him see that I've noticed his true intentions. Instead, I focus on heading over to the TV, ejecting the ancient _Halloween _tape, and slipping it into its worn cardboard cover. The old movie vibe is getting to me, so I instead flip through the haphazard stack of DVDs, considering the different covers before finally settling on the ominously pitchfork-adorned _The Crazies. _It's a recent movie, and quite a good one, too—one of my favorites. I click open the box and shove in the disc, hitting _Play _from the main menu with the player's controls—there doesn't seem to be a remote anywhere in the room. As it processes, I return to the bed, tucking one arm around Tweek's shoulders. He shrugs away for a moment, and I frown down at him, concerned, but he's just pulling my parka off.

"Too hot," he mumbles in response to my inquiring glance.

I nod, though it certainly isn't hot by my definition. In fact, the cabin is getting quite a chill, which makes me wonder just how many nights we'll manage in here before it gets too cold to stay. There's a promising-looking wooden chest at the base of the bed which probably holds a number of quilts, so that's something. And there is the fireplace downstairs, after all.

My thoughts are cut off as the movie begins, and Tweek squeaks in reaction to the light and noise, burrowing in closer next to me. I stroke his shoulder thoughtlessly, watching the story play out before me. I can feel his muscles stiffen in fear almost every other minute, and he trembles at the suspenseful sequences, something that's probably caused in part by the sunset outside the window, resulting in lighting that's changed from pale gold to deep crimson by the time we're nearing the end. At this point, he's positively clinging to me, his breath coming out quick and harsh.

"Hey," I murmur, my voice low and soft. "There's nothing to worry about."

He looks over at me doubtfully. "Who's to say that? There's everything to worry about."

His brutal honesty surprises me, and I give a small shrug, not really having an answer. I turn away again, facing the screen just as the credits begin to roll. A soft, minor piano tune begins to radiate from the TV's stereo, soon joined by softly sung, haunting lyrics.

_All around me are familiar faces, worn-out places, worn-out faces, bright and early for the daily races, going nowhere, going nowhere…_

Tweek sighs, the sound barely audible, and reaches up tentatively, his hand brushing against my cheek. At first, I'm surprised, before I realize that he's touching the bruise where Craig hurt me.

_Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow… _

"Tweek…" I murmur, reaching up and holding his fingers there. His eyes search mine, wide and soft.

"What?"

_And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had, I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take, when people run in circles, it's a very, very…_

He leans upwards, and I thread the fingers of my spare hand through his hair, pulling him tight and supporting him as he kisses me, lightly, hardly more than a delicate brushing of the lips that nonetheless sends gentle, pleasant shivers down my spine.

_Mad world… mad world…_

I drop the hand that's on my cheek, moving it to his shoulder and rubbing the tension out of it gently as he traces my lower lip with the tip of his tongue. He strokes my eyelashes with his thumbnail, and I let out a rushing sigh, opening my eyes just as he pulls back. We gaze at each other in silence, the long streams of scarlet sunlight weaving around our thin forms, as his small hand grips the collar of my T-shirt. I squeeze his upper arm in return, and he gives a small smile, mouth closed, looking almost… content.

_Children waiting for the day they feel good, happy birthday, happy birthday… _

I tilt my head forward to kiss him again, and his hand slips down my shirt, beginning to move in small, gentle circles around the area of my collarbone and shoulder.

_Made to feel the way that every child should, sit and listen, sit and listen…_

The song goes on, weaving its half-sung, half-murmured melody around us, interweaving with the sunbeams. Our legs wind together under the covers, and we slowly lean back onto the pillows, stroking each other's hair and shoulders as we continue to kiss, the minutes slipping by. I'm consumed completely by the tentative warmth, by the lilting music and by Tweek's familiar, almost homely scent. It _is _homely, I realize, because he's the only home I have left at this point, one that I never, ever want to leave behind, one that has a draw so much stronger than that of my friends and family, even my sister, or all the stupid girlfriends that I ever had.

_Enlarging your world… mad world…_

The piano hits its last note just as the final rays of sunlight sink below the horizon, and I lie back with a sigh, parting my mouth from Tweek's but still holding him as close as I possibly can. He returns the gesture, and we lie in relative silence, ignoring the soft electronic buzz of the TV set.

"Still not happy?" I question lowly. I expect him to stiffen and glare at the words, but he remains relatively quiet and relaxed, only speaking after several seconds have elapsed.

"No… I am happy."

The words are a softly pleasant surprise. "Well, that's… that's nice to hear."

"Being with someone I love… knowing that we aren't going to be interrupted… that's nice." His voice is growing fainter and fainter, and now it's barely a whisper. "It makes me happy… to be with the ones I love."

I want to squeeze him as tightly as I can, promise roughly in his ear that it should make him happy, that I want to make him happy, that that's all I really _do _want, for him to be happy, and that I'll give up whatever I have to in order for that to happen. But I don't want to ruin the invisible, perfect moment between us. So I settle for pulling him closer to myself, but only slightly, and brushing our noses together, just enough to create a slight tingle.

"So am I."

He snuggles up onto my chest, and I hold him there, feeling his heart beat through the thin shirt that separates us. The instants tick by, stretching into full minutes, before I finally decide to speak again.

"Are you getting tired?"

"Mm?" He shifts his position slightly, circulating more warmth all down my body. "Oh… oh, yeah, I suppose I a-am…" His mouth stretches into a tiny kitten yawn, and I smile to myself, staring at the dark ceiling. "A… a bit tired, yeah."

"Well, it has been a long day," I remind him. "All that driving… wears you out, you know?"

"I wasn't driving, I was just riding," he protests.

"Same thing. Sitting in a car, listening to that engine hum… exhausting, even though you're not moving."

"…I guess," he finally complies, turning onto his stomach and nuzzling my shoulder.

"Do you want to sleep now, then?" I continue, trying to keep the bemusement out of my voice at his easy distraction. There's something unshakably adorable about Tweek, and every action of his makes me want to smile or laugh—I can't claim that it's altogether unpleasant, or really unpleasant at all. I begin to lightly play with his hair again, touching the soft, spiky tips with my thumb. "It is dark, after all… it'd be good to get our bodies back on a regular schedule." _Especially since he comes out at night, so it's better if we're active during the day. _I don't say the words, even though they're my prime reason for offering that we sleep now.

"Yeah… I guess it would… g'night, then."

"Goodnight," I murmur back, kissing the top of his head. "We'll get food in the morning, okay? And we _will _get food. Staying hungry isn't healthy for us."

"'Kay," he breathes sleepily.

I grin and pull him in tight. I feel safer than I have ever since the beginning of all this—safer and happier. Things just keep getting better and better, it seems.

For the first time, as I drift off to sleep with the crickets chirping outside and Tweek's warmth curled up on my chest, I feel a glimmer of hope.


	14. FOURTEEN

**A/N** _Only one more chap after this one~!__  
_

**Thanks to** _RavenChild2__  
_

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc. _

* * *

**FOURTEEN**

I get up early the next morning to shower, leaving Tweek sleeping soundly under the heavy blanket. It's seven in the morning, and considering how early we went to bed last night, that means that we got something around eleven hours of sleep. I feel content, satisfied, and on top of things, like I actually know what we're doing for once. Which I do, and that's amazing. The cabin's layout is already familiar, and, somehow, it's started to feel like home after less than a day. Even the woods, lit pale green from the morning light and crested with dew, seem almost welcoming.

Showering, of course, is also a welcome experience. It's not the best-furbished of bathrooms that I find myself in, but at least there's hot water, and that's really all I could ask for. It's always helped me think, bathing—maybe it's that way for everyone, but something about the strength of the warm jets arching down my shoulders and back is calming, and seems to ease along the cramped passages of my brain.

I stay in there for a full thirty minutes, drenching myself in burning wetness, until the whole room is clouded with steam and the last reserves of heat are beginning to fade away. Then, stepping out reluctantly and shivering in the immediate rush of cold air, I pull my jeans and Craig's T-shirt back on—they're both still relatively clean—and head down to the kitchen, where I find a toaster and a bit of stale bread. That's how Tweek discovers me a quarter hour later, gnawing on butter-less toast with my hair fluffed up in its half-dried state. He seems to have borrowed clothes from what I guess to be one of Chuck's younger cousins—in any case, the red plaid top and black skinny jeans fit him rather well, though the shirt is a bit loose around the chest and shoulders.

He blinks sleepily, and his gaze lowers down to the slice of mildly burnt bread in my hand. "Food?" he mumbles.

I laugh lightly. "If it could be called that. Bread's in the cupboard over there, go ahead and have a bit. Though I think it might be even better if you don't incinerate it first."

He nods vaguely and trots over to the cabinet, his bare feet brushing against the floor as he pulls out a slice of bread and sits himself down next to me on the table, shoving a bite into his mouth hungrily. "Any plans for today?" he asks through a messy mouthful, dragging his sleeve over his mouth with a slight cough.

I shrug, polishing off my own bit of toast and leaning back creakily in my chair. "Just hang around, I suppose. I might take the car to town and try to grab some food."

"I can come with," he offers quickly. "I… well… I'd rather not be left alone, if it's all the same to you…"

"'Course," I promise immediately. "No problem. You might want to stay in the back seat, though—one teenager, people will let slide by their radar, but both of us… not so much."

He nods silently and continues to nibble, gazing thoughtfully at the wall.

"Other than that…" I shrug. "I don't know, really. We could scout around the woods a bit… nothing big, just close around the cabin. Search for bears?"

"Not the stupid bears again," he whines, looking a bit nervously out the window. "I hate bears… they're so big and ugly…"

"Calm down," I sigh playfully. "The bears won't be able to hurt you, okay? We won't go anywhere near deep enough to meet any kind of animal. I was just teasing."

"Yeah…"

I shrug slightly. "Anyways. How was last night? Sleep okay after our little double-feature?"

"Really well." He nods, offering one of those little smiles that seem to be growing more and more frequent. "I… I usually am really restless after I watch a scary movie like that, but… I felt… I felt safe." He ducks his head slightly, cheeks flaming.

"…I'm glad," I respond softly. "That's what I want for you, to feel safe."

"You're going a pretty good job of it." He swallows a final bite and stands up, rolling his shoulders and speaking louder than his previous hushed tone. "Anyways, are we gonna go outside? If we're going to go into the stupid forest, I want to get it done before it gets… dark or anything."

"'Kay," I agree, rising as well. "Shall we, then? Then we can head into whatever town is nearest when we get bored, sound good?"

"Sure." He follows me out the front door. It's a cool morning, and I shiver lightly underneath my thin T-shirt, but the sunlight is a perfect light touch of warmth. We pace along the woodchips, and I'm the first to enter the forest itself, letting out a low sigh as the glowing canopy forms over my head. Everything is lit almost magically over my head, like I'm in some sort of fairyland. It's nice, peaceful. A bird's call cuts through the still air, and it somehow reminds me of the last time I was in a forest in the early morning—after the night with Craig.

I give my head a quick, firm shake, trying to clear those thoughts from my mind. I don't want to cloud my happiness with thoughts of Craig right now. This, right here, is perfect, and disrupting it is the last thing that I want to do.

"It's smells nice, doesn't it?" I murmur.

"Yeah… like pine… it's pretty," he agrees, his voice small in the wide space of the forest. I lean against a tree trunk, fingering the rough bark and trying to shove down images of Craig, of him pinning me roughly against a similar tree and kissing me, hard…

I jerk my head again as though I can knock the thoughts askew.

"Are you… okay?" Tweek asks a bit nervously from behind me.

"Yeah, fine, I'm fine," I promise quickly, straightening up again. "Just… got a bit of a twitch. It's nothing big, don't worry." I glance over my shoulder, tossing him a casual grin that he seems a bit suspicious of.

"O-okay… if you say so…"

"I do say so." I step over and bend down, kissing him lightly on the forehead. "Bit shivery, that's all. It is rather cold out here."

"Oh—um, w-well, you can take my shirt… if you want." He offers one arm, the red plaid sleeve long enough to hang down over his fingertips, like oversized pajamas.

"No, it's alright," I laugh. "You have absolutely no muscle on me, so I'm sure you need that a lot more than I do. I'll be fine, promise. Now come on, let's keep going."

"Okay, but… not too deep, right?" he asks a bit nervously as we continue in. Amazingly, the branches laced above us are so thick that they've begun to block out the fresh sunlight, leaving pools of darkness interspersed amongst them. "I mean… I don't want to… you know, get lost or anything."

"How could we get lost when we're just going in one direction?" I snort, but my face grows serious at his slightly scandalized expression.

"Okay, calm down," I mutter. "We can go back, if you want…"

"N-no! I don't want to rush you! It's just… not _too _much farther?"

"Not too much farther," I promise with a slight sigh. To be honest, I'm enjoying this little trek of ours. It's remarkably relaxing to recede so deep into the woods that nothing else reaches us, not even light. It feels safe, though perhaps not quite so safe as the cabin. A bit more adventurous than that, a bit more daring, a bit more wild. I take in lungful after lungful of clear morning air, letting it flow through my mind and chill my scalp where my hair is still wet.

"Let's not go any farther," Tweek begs. I turn around, look at him in slight surprise. He's leaning against a tree, staring into the now-dark air. A small cloud of fog escapes his mouth as he exhales heavily. "This is deep enough… I don't want it go get too dark…"

"You really are a bit jumpy, aren't you?" I tease gently, closing the distance between us with a few quick steps. "Nothing in here's gonna hurt you, Tweek."

"I know, but—I just don't want to. Can you just respect my wishes, please?"

"Yeah…" I nod, slowly. "Okay, okay. Do you want to head back out, then?"

He shrugs widely, still not meeting my eyes. "Well, if you wanted to come in here for any particular reason other than to just… wander… now would be the time to tell me."

The truth is that I really _don't _have another reason. The woods looked nice, so I decided we ought to go in. It's a small thing, not necessarily one that will have a real impact on us, but I'm happy to be here—not necessarily to do anything, just to stand in here and listen to the whispery breeze and breathe in the piney scent. Tweek's approach seems impatient, even irritable in comparison.

"Just sit back," I offer. "Maybe we did come in here to wander. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Enjoy the peace… it's rare enough as it is."

"S'pose so," he agrees reluctantly, folding his arms and giving a delicate shiver.

"Too cold?"

"A bit."

I sidle up next to him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and pulling him closer to myself. His tiny, shaking frame is indeed ice-cold, even under his heavy plaid shirt. "You need to put on some muscle," I tease. "Otherwise you'll freeze to death before we spend a week here."

"I'm tougher than I look," he objects, but doesn't sound really offended. On the contrary, he rests his head on my shoulder. I lean against the same wide tree trunk as him, squeezing his upper arm, and we both tilt our heads upward, gazing into the tiny fragments of azure sky visible between the complex lattice of thick and thin tree branches.

"That's for sure," I agree. "You've definitely proved that to me."

"I wish Craig could have realized that," he murmurs. "That was beyond him, though… he always called me weak…"

"Let's not talk about Craig right now." I pull away from the tree, and he yelps to regain his balance as I turn around and face him fully. My mouth is moving, the words are coming out without my thinking, and it takes me several moments to process that, out of nowhere, I feel angry. Angry that Tweek should bring Craig up now, of all times, just now, just when we were being _happy. _Yes, we're both thinking about him constantly, but that doesn't mean we have to mention it. I take a deep breath, try to keep my words reasonable. "Alright? Let's just keep it to the two of us right now."

His eyes slowly search mine, a slow, almost wondering look. "Why?" he asks plainly, bluntly. "Why the hell _shouldn't _we talk about him? It's… I like pretending as much as you do, but we both know the truth. We both know that he's never going to stop searching for us unless he's caught or… or killed somehow…" A rough swallow. "We both know that we're both in love with him, Kenny. Don't deny it. So why shouldn't we? Why the hell shouldn't we bring him up when he's the most important thing in the world to both of us?"

I open my mouth for a snarled retort, then find that my voice doesn't want to come up. My throat seems to have tightened. "Because…" When the words finally come out, they're tiny, weak, pathetic. "Is he? Is he really… _the _most important thing?"

"If not for Craig, we'd both be home right now." He watches me cautiously, his eyes shadowed. "You know that."

"I don't _want _to know that."

"Do you have some sort of problem with the truth?" he demands. His eyes are brighter than usual, teeth clenched, hands stiff at his sides. I don't want this to happen, don't want us to start fighting again, not when everything has been going so perfectly. But I can't back down from this—or, even if I wanted to, my temper wouldn't let me.

"Why… why can't I just spend time with you… why is that so _hard?_" The frustration building up inside of me is cumulative, no doubt. There's no other explanation for why it would be so fiery. His gaze changes from defensive to alarmed in a split second.

"Kenny… I don't mean—we can still be happy, okay? I just… I don't want to act like… to act like he doesn't exist when he does. I don't want to live in some fake world! I want… I want to know that we can be happy even when he _does _exist to us… that his presence doesn't make any difference! I want us to be together… no matter what!"

"But we _won't _be!" I yell back. "You've made that all too clear, haven't you? Saying he's the _most important _thing in the world to you, _constantly _going on about how the two of you had so much, about how I'd never have that much… not with you or him. Because that's fucking who I am, isn't it? I'm the one, the goddamn one who's always going to be left out in the dark, who you can both _play _with—even you. Tweek Tweak! No one likes you. None of the girls, none of the boys. It's only ever been Craig, and nobody understood _why _he, who could have _anyone_, went for you. _I _didn't understand that! I didn't realize it at the time, but maybe… I think I might have… been jealous. Me, Kenny McCormick the fucking _man whore, _jealous. Jealous of _you._"

"Kenny—"

"But it couldn't stop there, oh, no. It had to keep going. It had to escalate. As if it wasn't humiliating enough to have a skinny little bitch be where I wanted to… no… it got worse. Because do you realize where I am at this point? Do you _realize?_"

"Kenny!" he squeaks, "you're not making any sense! Please, calm down, I'll listen…"

"You'll listen," I repeat, my voice suddenly quiet. "Of course you will. Because you're _like _that. You have so many fucking problems, you're so fucked up, but you'll _listen to me, _to _me, _who's here out of _choice, _who's happy when you aren't. It's things like that, Tweek. Little things like that that make you so much better than me, better than Craig, better than anyone I fucking know. You'll _listen. _And… and now I…" My voice is rising again. "And that's how I got trapped in _this _goddamned awful situation! Because of you, because of you being so damn _perfect… _I couldn't stop at wanting to replace Craig for you. I couldn't just like Craig. Now I'm stuck in a position that's so humiliating, so fucking mocking because it's so pathetic… somehow… somehow I'm not jealous of you. Somehow I'm jealous of _him. _Because as amazing and seductive and gorgeous as Craig is… he's not the one I've fallen in love with, Tweek. _It's not him!_" My voice scares off a nearby flock of birds, which depart in a shuffling cacophony. "It's never been him, not really. Of course I'd fucking crush on him, who wouldn't? But I was never in love with Craig Tucker. It took time to realize… but now I'm positive. I'm absolutely fucking positive. It's you."

I drag a deep breath in through my lips, staring at him straight in the eyes, done with everything else, done with beating around the bush and avoiding his age like a fucking pussy schoolgirl. "I'd say it's 'always been you' or some clichéd bullshit like that, but it wouldn't be true. It hasn't always been you. You were an insignificant person at school who I didn't give a single fuck about. I didn't think twice when I found out that you were the person I would be… well… raping that night. But I've gotten to know you in these last few days, Tweek, and you've gotten to know me, better than anyone else has. And I'm not going to deny anymore that I love you. That's not something I say to everyone, whatever you think. I've never felt like this before, not so completely, not like my life is absolutely tied to another person's. But it is to yours. I know it is."

"K-Kenny…" he whispers. He's pressed back against the tree trunk, and I realize that I've gotten all up in his face, so that there's barely a millimeter of space between our noses. I step back with a slight cough, pressing my lips together and folding my arms silently.

"I…" His eyes flicker around desperately, as though he's not sure what to look at.

"I understand," I promise with a calmness that surprises even myself. "I know that for you, it could never be anyone but Craig. That's fine. That's all I'd expect, okay? And if he ever gets better, I want you two to be together, because I want you to be happy. And you will be happy with him, much more than you ever would be with me. So… just… do that for me…" My voice cracks out of nowhere, and I feel a slight burning starting behind my eyes and in the base of my throat. "You said it to me, yesterday, before you jumped. You wanted me to be happy. And now I want you to be happy. And this isn't a test to see how loyal you are to me or anything. Happiness was… never meant for me. I'm supposed to provide it for other people. That's the answer, isn't it? That's why I'm able to keep on dying. Because that way I can sacrifice myself as many times as I need to. My purpose is to let other people be happy, or ignorant, or _alive. _It's a… mistake for someone like me to fall in love. But I have anyways."

We stare at each other in silence. My chest is heaving, while his is perfectly steady. The birds have returned—they're chirping again, high-pitched little noises that feel like pinpricks through the blanket of silence. My eyes start to itch with the urge to break contact with Tweek's, but I force them to remain in place, almost challenging him. Just when I'm starting to wonder how long we can last like this, he lets out a loud, noisy exhalation and shakes his head.

"You are an _idiot,_" he states calmly.

I won't deny that that rubs my fur the wrong way. "What do you mean?" I demand defensively. "How—how am I an idiot?"

"You're not meant for love? You really believe that shit?" He raises his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a mocking smirk. "Give me a break, Kenny."

"Cut it out. I'm being serious."

"So am I," he sighs quietly, leaning forward and kissing me.

I freeze for a moment, surprised and caught completely unaware. He pulls back almost instantly, still with that steady, knowing look in his green eyes. I don't know what to say, how to react. So I settle for stammering, "What was that for?"

"What do you mean, 'what was that for?'"

"I mean—exactly what it sounds like!" I should probably be happy, flattered, even, but I'm not. I don't understand why he'd have to do this to me, to _mock _me like this. "You don't get it, do you? I can't keep doing this. If we're going to stay together… it has to be as friends, okay? I don't… I don't want to think that I can have you and then not. I mean… I'm sorry, but… it's hard for me. Unimaginably hard. This isn't easy, for me, to have a—a light relationship like this with someone I really care about. I'm used to this type of thing with all the sluts and whores and shit who pay to have me, and… well—the point is, I'm not going to be able to cope with thinking that I have you for a few days, weeks—months, whatever—and then losing you as soon as Craig comes back. I can't do that."

"I'll say it again," he says steadily, "you're an idiot."

"Stop it!"

"Kenny… do you think _I _get involved with people easily? I've never dated, Ken. Never anyone but him. _Never. _Here you are, with all your piles of girls, but I've never had anyone but Craig. Not in my whole life."

"That's my point!"

"No, it's not. Because you're missing a really vital aspect of it." He bites at his bottom lip, looking almost nervous for the first time. "A really, really vital aspect."

I half-glare at him suspiciously. "Go on, then, don't leave me in the dark. What's this oh-so-important thing that I've managed to miss?"

"Never anyone but him, until a few days ago. Until that day when he decided to call you to the house, and when you didn't just stand there and watch, but _helped _me. Don't you realize how few people would do that? I can't think of a single other person in the school who would risk themselves like that for no reason at all. Just like you said, you didn't know me. You have no connection to me whatsoever. And yet you saved me. From him. Who else would do that?"

"What… what are you saying?" My stomach is twisting in about fifty-seven different directions at once, and my mouth has suddenly become very dry. But I can't say it's an altogether unpleasant thing, to be honest.

"I've dealt with him for so long. That night was no worse than any other. But I left anyways, I ran away with you. And that wasn't because I wanted to escape from him, Kenny. It wasn't a push, it was a pull. I came with you so that I could be with you."

I shake my head infinitesimally, not letting myself believe him.

"I wanted to find out more about the person who was selfless and brave and kind enough to risk his… well… his everything just so that I could stop suffering. And I did, and I liked what I found. You are… the most amazing person I've ever met, Kenny. Of course… you aren't going to replace him for me… nobody ever is. But the fact remains that Craig and I can't be together anymore. Even if he did manage to… recover, somehow, to become himself again… too much negativity has passed between us, at this point. Just thinking about him… God, I love him so much, but that love _hurts. _I don't want to be with someone who hurts me, even if it's a blissful hurt. I want to be with someone who can make me _happy, _Kenny McCormick, and that person is you."

"Me," I repeat.

"Yeah. You."

"So… what are you saying?" I ask again, more slowly this time. I can't imagine that he's trying to communicate what I think, what I want to think, but I can't come to any other conclusion. "Just… like you said, I'm an idiot. Lay it out for me. Say it. Please. Just… in the plainest terms possible."

"In the plainest terms possible?" he repeats. "I should think that's pretty damn obvious by now, Kenny. Even you aren't that stupid."

"I… I don't want to assume anything…"

"Don't assume, then. Guess." He leans in, tilts his head up so that we can meet each other's eyes, presses up next to me so that our chests are touching, separated only by our shirts. "Whatever's in your mind… say it for me."

"It sounds like…" My voice is too loud, too harsh next to his soft murmur. I swallow, and the next words come out in a strangled whisper. "It sounds like you're saying… you're saying that…"

He reaches up, grips the collar of my shirt with one hand and rubs the fabric between his fingers. I can't move. I'm petrified, every time his nails brush my neck I get a thousand electric shocks, and his eyes, oh, _God, _his eyes, they're so big and wide and deep… green, green eyes, framed by long, pale lashes and underscored with a light hint of deep violet from lack of sleep, fainter than usual since he could rest decently last night… they flicker in the movement of a blink, dusting the pale skin of his cheeks for the briefest of moments, casting delicate, blurry shadows.

"Tell me," he whispers, his breath ghosting against my lips.

"You're saying that you love me."

"Damn straight."

We both lean into each other at the same time, and, somehow, this feels like the first _real _kiss, even though it's far from the first—there was the time at his house, the one at the motel, the one at the cabin. Each progressively more tentative and sweet than the first—backwards for most couples, but for us it makes perfect sense somehow. Sunlight streams down from between the treetops, illuminating our entwined figures, but my eyes aren't open to see it. One of my hands is on his shoulder blade, gently tracing the bone, and the other is at his waist, holding him as close to me as I can. It goes on for minutes, one melting into the other, and we don't so much as gain energy—it's just a simple process of pressing our lips together over and over, moving them in new but still soft ways, tasting and feeling each other as time passes by. Neither of us notice, though, because there aren't any clocks out here—there's nothing out here, nothing but each other, and that's perfect, so perfect.

I don't think about the fact that he said I'll never be what Craig was to him.

I don't think about how I myself still haven't abandoned Craig altogether.

I don't think about how we're still being hunted.

I don't think about how there's no food back home, about how we'll have to drive to town and buy some.

I don't think about there ever being any reason for this to even come near approaching an ending.

But not thinking about something doesn't make it any less inevitable, and so it is that, after a long, long time, he finally takes a couple of steps back, letting go of my shirt and taking a deep breath. I'm a bit lightheaded myself, and make sure to inhale sharply to steady the world that's spinning around me. It doesn't do that much to help, but at least I'm fairly confident now that I'm not going to topple over randomly.

"You okay?" he asks with a slightly nervous laugh.

"Fantastic," I reply, grinning widely. "Never been better. How about you?"

"Oh, y'know… pretty much perfect."

We both laugh, then, giddily and stupidly, and once I start I can't stop. I'm just so damn _happy. _Things keep getting better and better between us, even with the small fights. I can deal with the small fights. And I will, if that's what it takes.

I can deal with anything, if that's what it takes to be with him.

Of course it doesn't last.

I should know that the chill suddenly running down my spine is caused by more than just the sun slipping behind a cloud. But I don't give it any thought until I'm pinned to the ground with Craig's hands around my throat.


	15. FIFTEEN

**A/N** _And, finally, here we have the last chapter. Well, it's been quite a ride, I hope you all enjoyed it while it lasted! Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, alerted, or favorited. _

**Disclaimer** _I don't own South Park or any associated characters, events, etc._

* * *

**FIFTEEN**

I hear Tweek's scream, but I'm too out of breath to make a sound. I inhale sharply, but am unable to draw air past the firm blockage of Craig's strong fingers wrapped around my neck. My fingers dig into the wet leaves padding the forest floor, scrambling and slipping desperately. I blink pained tears out of my eyes and manage to focus on Craig's furious face. His eyes are nearly black, and his teeth gleaming far too brightly against his dirty skin. His face isn't playful, isn't taunting—no, he's _enraged, _and I can tell that he doesn't intend to let me go until I'm dead. Maybe it's the lack of oxygen reaching my brain, but it seems as though the sky has gone inexplicably dark, causing my captor's pale features to stand out all the more clearly.

_Not now, _my brain cries vaguely. _Please, please, please, not now. Just let us be happy, please, Craig… just let us be fucking happy… _

"And just what do you think you're doing, McCormick?" he snarls, his voice low and raspy—and, somehow, undeniably sexy. I whine in protest, suddenly aware of how close his body is pressed to mine, how his knee is digging into my thigh, his elbow braced on my chest, his glowering face close enough to almost be touching mine. I fight to turn my head away, pushing hard into the ground and getting all measure of dirt in my hair. He releases one hand, keeping the other firmly in place, and grips my jaw, turning my head roughly towards him.

"I'll ask you one more _fucking _time," he spits. "_What the hell are you doing?"_

My mouth moves soundlessly. My head is starting to buzz without air, and I recognize faintly that I'm not going to last much longer. His grip on my throat burns like fire. I kick, but can't possibly aim, and therefore miss connecting with anything by a long shot.

Words suddenly form in my mind, eerily clear and calm.

_This is how it ends. Right now. Game over. I might be able to restart, but I'll have lost this. Lost them. _

_I'll have lost Tweek. _

I lurch up, an unwilling yell tearing itself from my lips as I somehow manage to bowl Craig backwards. I don't bother to keep him on the ground, but rather stumble to my feet immediately. The world tilts wildly around me as I finally get in a real breath of air, and I find myself limping to the side, a hand thrust out, just managing to grip a tree trunk before I collapse. I brace myself against it, taking several long, deep breaths, until my lungs no longer feel drowned in acid. Still a bit dizzy, I turn around, just in time to see Craig springing up, running forward and grabbing Tweek by the wrist.

Tweek, dammit! Why is he still here?

"Run, you idiot!" I shriek, but it's too late—Craig pulls the smaller boy to his chest, wrapping his strong arms around him and holding him there firmly.

"Get the fuck away from me!" Tweek protests, struggling, but he's no match for Craig.

I meet Craig's eyes, staring wildly. Every cell of my body is blazing with energy, with desperation. There's a horrible sort of finality to this—the three of us standing in this tiny clearing, him with Tweek, me alone.

_Him with Tweek. Me alone. Did I really ever imagine it would turn out any different?_

It's as if the last couple of days have been some sort of far-fetched dream, a bubble of ignorance, and now I've been rather ungracefully thrust back into reality. I can't say that reality is treating me all that well, either. I don't say anything, and neither does Craig. We both just stare at each other, ignoring Tweek's faint, muffled whimpers.

"Let him go," I say finally. Each word is horribly calm and measured, "or I swear to God I will find you and I will kill you."

"You never could," Craig hisses back. His voice is uneven, a wild sort of snarl. "You're too much of a coward for that… you could never kill anyone, even if you had a weapon, and you don't… no… no… I heard your little speech, McCormick, I heard everything you said. You think that you're some sort of hero, an _angel. _Is that what you are? Kenny the angel? Rather underwhelming title, I have to say… the demons were always so much more intriguing… that _would _be you, though, little blonde cherub, playing the fucking harp in your shitty diaper, up in the clouds…"

He's rambling, barely making even the slightest bit of sense. And his voice is getting louder, moving up and down in the deranged pattern of a madman. I spare a moment to glance towards Tweek, who's shaking, very pale but with a hard resolve glinting in his eyes. I don't have a plan, or really anything even beginning to resemble a plan. I take another deep breath, making sure that I keep air flowing through me. I don't have a weapon, or anything like one. Nothing but my fists and my words.

"So you doubt me, then?" I ask. I don't know what I'm trying to achieve—just to keep Craig talking, I suppose. "Because I don't break my promises. Whatever you do now… if you take Tweek, if you hurt him… I will devote the rest of my life to hunting you down, and to making sure you're dead. And my life isn't going to end in a hurry, I can promise you that. Fuck knows if it ever will, in fact. I'm not someone you want as an enemy."

"Oh, _Kenny,_" he scoffs, his tone mockingly patronizing. "You've got everything backwards. _I'm _the one that no one wants as an enemy. Every single bitch back in South Park knows that." He raises his eyebrows, grinning insanely. "And yet look at you now. You're _screwed, _Kenny McCormick. Completely and utterly fucked over. You know that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Only an idiot would say something like that, Ken." His tone is syrupy sweet, smooth and cool, but it causes my stomach to clench furiously.

"Don't you _dare _call me an idiot," I whisper raggedly.

He chews his bottom lip in an almost thoughtful manner, allowing his eyelids to droop down slightly. Neither of us are making a single noise now. The space between us is humming with silence, disrupted only by Tweek's harsh gasps.

"Alright," he finally agrees, his tone alarmingly amiable. "I won't call you an idiot. In fact, I won't call you anything at all. And do you know why that is?"

I risk a tiny head shake.

"Because I'm never going to call you anything again, ever. Neither of us are. You're never going to hear my voice again… and not your little fucking _boyfriend's_, either."

"No—" I begin, but my voice is cut off by a sudden flash of pain in my side. I cry out unwillingly, stumbling forward and folding to the ground, barely managing to catch myself with splayed hands. I look up frantically, wincing against the raging agony gripping my hip and stomach. My hazy vision is just focused enough for me to see the gun held in one of Craig's hands, his other one being wound around Tweek's chest.

"_Kenny!_" Tweek screams.

But Craig's already whipping around and tearing away, Tweek yelping out protests as he's dragged at an alarmingly fast pace. I grit my teeth, trying to rise and letting out an unwilling keen of pain as my legs immediately collapse underneath me. I risk a glance down, in time to see blood staining the fabric of my shirt at a terrifyingly fast rate, starting to pool on the ground. It gleams darkly and ominously in the suddenly frosty morning light. I'm no stranger to pain, but this hurts like fucking hell. The gunshot itself is bad enough, and then there's the fact that it renders me unable to move, stops me from getting where I need to be, from rescuing Tweek.

_If I'm supposed to rescue people, then why does this happen? _I don't know if I'm yelling the words or just thinking them, but they're deafening in my mind. _Just this one time, let me keep going! Whatever it is that's constantly resurrecting me—fucking heal this! I don't need to die from this, I'm still alive now, there's no reason for me to be sent all the way back to my bed, that just isn't fair… it isn't fucking fair, you bastards!_

My head is starting to spin again, in sickening waves of blurry nausea. I can't give up, though, not now. My injury is blazing with pain, but somehow I manage to stand up on one leg, leaning heavily on a tree. I clutch at the wound, seeing the blood run through my fingers as if through a gray mist. Craig must have hit a major vein with that shot—why else would it be bleeding this goddamn much? Trying desperately to ignore my lightheadedness, I manage to move from tree to tree, half-limping and half-crawling, falling over multiple times but always managing to right myself, if only just barely. At this point, it's less a question of _if _I'll black out—probably losing my whole fucking life—but rather _when. _If I can reach Craig and Tweek, then… damn. I have too much of a blood-loss headache to plan that far ahead. I just have to find them, and then perhaps there'll be some chance of me being able to save Tweek before I'm completely pulled under.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. _The words pound out a steady beat in my head, the only thing I can hold onto in this topsy-turvy world that I'm navigating so haltingly. I glance behind myself at one point, distantly notice that I'm trailing blood and feel a lurch in my stomach. The nausea rocks back and forth inside me, more and more intense until I feel that I'm probably going to vomit.

_No. Hang in there. Come on. _

I don't so much find Tweek as trip over him, landing sprawled on the ground. The impact paralyzes me for a moment, the pain flaring up so badly that all of my senses pulsate hot and red for a full ten seconds. Then, slowly, I become aware of Tweek crying out my name, of his hands on my shoulders, lifting my head up.

"Kenny! Kenny, a-are you alright? P-please, you have to keep walking, you h-have to, he's watching, he'll be back…"

His face swims in and out of focus. I raise a hand slowly, stroke his cheek. There's a cut under his eye, I notice, dripping a thin stream of deep crimson blood. "He… hurt you," I whisper, the words barely audible even to me. Everything sounds as though I'm hearing it from underwater, faint and distorted.

"Hurt me? Jesus Christ, Kenny, y-you… you need to hold on, okay? You need to hang in there for me! You promised, remember?" Tears are streaming down his face, his eyelids puffy and red, but his irises themselves still that gorgeous, cool green. It's soothing. Calming. "You promised that you'd stay and protect me, no matter what! You can't stop now, okay? It's just your side, not even your head or chest. Just a tiny little bullet wound. You can recover, you stupid idiot, it's not even that bad! Just… we have to get out of the forest, okay? You have to get out. I can take care of myself, but you need to run… I'll meet you back at the cabin, alright?"

"R-run?" I cough in disbelief, fighting to raise my eyebrows. "How the fuck am I supposed to… to…"

"Don't try to talk," he urges, his voice thick through a screen of tears. His long, slim fingers brush my hair out of my eyes, and I struggle to drag in another breath. "You're fine… you'll survive if we can just stop the blood…"

"Craig," I object as he begins to look around, as though expecting to find a pile of bandages just sitting nearby. "Craig is still… still out there… he's… where…?" I can't even keep track of my own thoughts anymore. They're scattering, flowing freely through my mind, disconnected and not holding together even the faintest semblance of logic.

"He left me here, Kenny, he… he was looking for y-you… I think he wanted to… to finish the job… we both heard you screaming, knew you weren't dead… so he went off, and you were quiet a little later, I thought you had—I thought he had…" He dissolves into sobs, hand obsessively running over my forehead again and again. "God, Ken, p-please don't leave now… come on, you've made it this far… please…"

"S'fine," I mumble, though we both know it's anything but. I'm starting to get a grip on things again, but I know it's not going to last long. This is my body's final effort, and I'd bet on it lasting five minutes at a maximum before it completely gives in. I'm not going to make it unless we get to a hospital or something of the like in the next couple of minutes. That's not going to happen.

"Tweek…" My voice is gaining the faintest amount of strength, and I reach up through the fog that seems to be surrounding me, vaguely run my fingers through his hair. "Tweek… listen… you need to run. I… I'm not going to be… dead… not really… he knows we're at the cabin…"

"I'm not running!" he wails in response. "I'm not leaving you, you idiot! Not now…! Not now." His voice cracks, but I ignore it, plow on determinedly.

"No, _listen. _Take the Corvair. Get somewhere—far away, just not back to South Park. As far as possible. Fuck, go to Canada, if you need to."

"I'm not going to listen to you! That's not going to happen! You're going to make it!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" For an instant, my voice sounds almost normal. "Don't be ridiculous," I repeat, softer this time. "We both know that I'm going to die in minutes. No one can lose this much blood and survive. Don't cry, you idiot, you need to focus here. We can still both get out of this safe."

"S-safe? You're—you're fucking _dying!_"

"And that's hardly a new thing, is it?" I remind him. My hand is starting to shake uncontrollably, and I let it fall to his shoulder, grip it far too tightly to be comfortable. I can't quite feel the tips of my fingers anymore, but I can see them clenched firmly onto his shirt, veins straining. "I told you that I can't die, not really. I'm going to wake up in bed. And what I need you to do is send me an email… tell me where you are. I can get there. Steal money, take a bus or something." A bitter, metallic taste is beginning to creep into my mouth, and I turn my head, spit onto the ground. Red-tinged saliva pools on the dirt, and I look away disgustedly, just managing to lock eyes with Tweek again.

"But…" He begins shakily.

I jerk my head back and forth a couple of times. "No buts. This is the only way that we can do this, okay? We can keep running. As long as it takes. But you need to leave now. Right now, before he gets back. You need to run to the car and drive the hell away from here. As fast as you can. Do that for me, please…" My voice is beginning to weaken again, and I know that I've already reached the second half of my last reserves.

I'm not scared, though. This is a plan, a solid plan. I'll be able to remember this all when I wake up. We can do this, get out of this, if only Tweek will give up his heroic act and fucking cooperate. He needs to understand… needs to understand that this is our only chance.

I hear the footsteps and know immediately that it's too late. I have half a mind to just let it go now, stop holding on, since there's really no hope left anyways. But I keep holding on to Tweek's shoulder, trying to communicate in that desperate gesture that, for him, there's still time. That I can probably distract Craig, at least as long as is necessary for him to run to the car and get the fuck out of here.

_Go, Tweek. Please, run. For both of us._

"Well, well, _well, _looks like someone beat me here," Craig murmurs, sounding almost surprised. "Should I congratulate you, McCormick? I suppose I underestimated you… most people could hardly manage a single step after being shot in that particular muscle…"

"…Lots of people underestimate me," I manage, glaring dazedly up at him. I can't see his eyes or face, just a vague, blurry figure, tall and lithe. I think he's still holding the gun, but it's impossible to tell for sure. "I'm used to pain… I've learned how to overcome it…"

"Overcome pain, perhaps. Overcome death… not so much. I daresay it follows you everywhere…" Craig kneels down, reaches out, and I just barely feel his cold fingers tracing the two-day bruise from where he punched me before Tweek's hand snaps out, slapping at Craig's wrist.

The dark-haired boy withdraws quickly, turning to look at Tweek. I let my head fall back with a heavy sigh, staring up into the weaving branches above me, the foggy sky barely visible behind them.

"Ooh, touchy, are we?" Craig coos. "I wouldn't have done that, if I were you… it's not good to get on my bad side…"

"Fuck you," Tweek spits with an admirable measure of venom in his tone.

"Oh, I know you'd _like _to, but don't you think we have more important things to attend to at the moment?" Craig drawls.

The sentence doesn't make any sense to my hazy mind, and I don't try to attach meaning to it. My hand is still on Tweek's shoulder—or, at least, I assume it is; I can't really feel it anymore. Can't feel much anything but a horrible, heavy pounding in my head. I'm just starting to sink into that pounding, be consumed by it, when I remember where I am, that I can't afford to relax yet. I shake my head slightly, a tiny motion that sends a heavy, rolling ache through my skull. I blink heavily and realize that more time must have passed than it felt like, because somehow Tweek and Craig are both on their feet, yelling words at each other that I can't quite understand. Both yelling…? That doesn't seem to make much sense… Tweek… is he defending himself…? I want so desperately to let it all go, just fade away, but I can't, not now.

_Not now. _

"Run."

The word is a half-formed whisper, so faint that I can't even hear it myself over that horrible drumming in my ears, only feel my lips moving, framing it. Still, Tweek must have heard, because he looks over at me, apparently distraught. I meet his eyes one final time.

_Please. Please. Please. _

He runs.

Each footfall is like a thunder crack, like the slow-motion bass pattern of a rap song, hitting my eardrums fiercely. My side is hurting worse than ever, and I know I've reached the peak of the crescendo, the final few moments during which I can retain my senses and my life, before it's all sucked away as if by a fucking vacuum.

Craig is still here.

I recognize this fact vaguely, attempt to deny it and give up in a second. I don't want him to be here while I die, don't want him to see me giving in, being weak. It would be better if I were alone… then again, I suppose that this way I know he's not after Tweek. Tweek will get a chance to run, to get the Corvair, to escape… that'll be good. Very good.

I take a breath, feel it run through every bit of my body, causing me to shiver oddly. I blink, trying to clear my bleary eyes, but they only end up more fogged than before. The raging heat is everywhere, consuming me, so that I'm surprised that I'm not a flaming mess.

_Dammit, Craig, why did you have to shoot me?_

"Because I wanted him for myself."

I'm confused for a moment, wondering if I'm imagining his voice. But it seems real enough, and I manage to turn my head just far enough to see him sitting on a tree stump nearby, head in his hands, pale fingers wound up in his dark hair. I must have spoken aloud accidentally.

"Wha…?" I mumble, my lips and teeth slipping about in confusion. Everything's getting heavy and numb, making it hard to articulate anything clearly.

"He was supposed to be mine, you fucking bitch… but I gave him a choice…" He looks up, but I can't see his eyes, just his face, a slightly lighter shadow against the inky backdrop of his hair. "I… I asked him to come with me. I _asked _him, Kenny." He sounds so… normal. Maybe it's just my current state distorting things, but…

"Because that's what you did. Remember, I was listening the whole time. You didn't push him to be with you… you did the _opposite… _you told him not to be with you… I could never do that… I tried, though. I tried to tell him… and do you know what he did?"

"C-Craig…"

"He turned me down." His voice is hollow, and I suddenly realize that he isn't free from the grip of that awful government experiment, not at all. This isn't the Craig I'm used to. It's some… rawer form of him, childish, almost, exposed and vulnerable. He's broken. So broken. "I thought we had so much… he doesn't even _care _about you… does he? He's not supposed to… but he turned me down…"

His words wander through my mind, disjointed.

_Not… turned… down…_

My breath starts to hitch up. My body is getting desperate. "I bet you're angry at… me, then," I gasp. "So… why don't you kill me? It'll be nice, won't it? You know I'm f-fucking screwed as it is…" My teeth are beginning to chatter. Ice starts to grow inside of me, chilling me from the inside out. "Just… end it, why don't you? D-deliver the f-final blow… you'll… like it…"

"I can't," he protests, his voice almost soft. "I can't… I can't kill someone who… who he loves… I just can't…"

"Weak," I snarl, spitting blood onto the ground. My surroundings take a particularly heavy swerve. The pain is fading now, at an alarmingly fast rate, leaving me in a cocoon of fuzzy numbness. "You're… nothing… without him."

He's suddenly on his feet, standing over me, yelling. Yelling too loudly, so that it tears at my mind, rips through it like a flaming whip, scoring marks of throbbing hurt all over the blurry well of my thoughts.

"Me? _Me? I'm _nothing? You would never understand, would you? What it's like to love someone? You can pretend all you like, and you _do, _pretend, oh, you pretend!" His voice is doing that thing again, moving up and down in a mad, unpredictable pattern that makes my head and heart throb simultaneously. "But you… _you're _the one who could never understand love!"

"At least I took care of him," I breathe. "At least I protected him."

"But it's not all that _easy, _you fucking pussy! It's not that fucking simple! It's not all about protection! It's about _need! _It's about needing to get to him no matter what stands in your way, about knocking down those goddamn walls and reaching him, always reaching him because you _need _him—that's the thing, McCormick! You aren't supposed to say that you're in love because he needs you! That's never the cause. It's because _you _need _him! _And you don't need him, do you?"

"And… you… do?"

"You said it yourself, bitch. I'm nothing without him. Is that it? Am I really _nothing _without that skinny, pathetic, amazing, wonderful, _perfect_ excuse for a boy?"

"Sure looks like it to me," I manage to grunt.

"Well, take a fucking look at yourself. _Look _at you, bleeding on the ground, pale as fuck and all bruised up from where _I _hit you. _You _are nothing but a fucking lowlife whose parents abuse you. You're poor as _shit. _You have three, sometimes four 'friends' who never include you in _anything, _who are never grateful for a thing you do. You're a fucking slut who sells his body so that he can feed his skinny, ugly-ass little sister. You have a family who abuses and hates youand you don't even have the excuse of good grades. You, Kenny McCormick—be glad that you're dying, be grateful to me, because it's _you. _You. Are. Nothing."

He's gone. Not slowly, not gradually, just all of a sudden I'm not staring at him, but rather at the gray sky. It undulates before me, tauntingly. I'm done. I'm ready to let go. I can only hope that Craig was running away, and not towards Tweek—not to mention that Tweek himself reached the car okay. If so, he should be a couple of miles away by now. No need to respect the speed limit. Looks like Chuck's never going to get his car back… shame.

_Come on. It shouldn't take this long. Do your work, fucking Grim Reaper. _

I recognize the stage I'm in now. First there was the initial pain, the wooziness, the all-consuming agony, the cold, and now this. The final note in the symphony. The numbness, the sleepiness… it's deeper than sleepiness, though. Sleepiness is when your eyes grow heavy, when your body is warm and content and you're ready to let your thoughts spiral away into the galaxies of a dream world, only to be collected again in the morning, neat as always.

But this—this is true tiredness. True exhaustion. Closing my eyes would take effort. Hell, breathing takes effort. In fact, I'm gasping with each inhalation, and I feel it tearing at my lungs, but at the same time, I'm oddly separate from it. It's like I'm existing in third person.

_Kenny is hurt. Kenny is in pain. Kenny is dying. _

Simple sentences, like those in a children's book. They're all I can process anymore. Don't care, don't mind. Means that it's getting closer. Finally.

It's almost mocking, how I only realize my horrible mistake at the last moment.

I'm never going to see Tweek again.

Because they never remember me. The next morning, the next day… I'm forgotten, every single time. Tweek won't remember that I'm dead. And seeing how many events were linked to my death, he probably won't even be able to recall that I ever helped him. It'll be back to the beginning, back to me being just another face at school. He won't associate my name with himself any more than he will Kyle Broflovski's.

He's going to forget. So is Craig, even Chuck. All of them. I'll be a ghost, one who guided their steps but won't ever be recalled. Tweek will keep running, hopefully. Or maybe Craig will catch up with him, take him back to the start. Either way, I can be sure that they won't ever return to South Park.

They won't ever return to me.

_Tweek, I'm sorry. I fucked up so badly. _

_Forgive me? _

His voice is there, suddenly. I don't know if I'm imagining it or if it really is him, if he was really stupid enough not to leave when I said. All I'm sure about is that it's the last thing I'm going to hear in this lifetime—the last I'm going to hear of him in any lifetime. It carries me away, wraps around me and lifts me gently from everything as my vision settles to a comfortably blinding white and the sensation of being tied to my body disappears fully.

_"Kenny! Where are you?" _


End file.
